Elderberry Croft: The Complete Collection

by Becky Doughty

  “Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me. My baby, George.”

  Suddenly the lights came on, and Pru from the apartment downstairs stood in the doorway of the bedroom, her phone in hand. “We were outside having coffee downstairs. We heard screaming. Paramedics are on their way.”

  Brushing past her was Willow Goodhope, the woman who’d thrown the 4th of July party right after Andrea found out she was pregnant. She’d whispered the news to Willow that day, the first person she’d told other than George. She wasn’t sure why; they’d only met a few times before, their schedules rarely coinciding, but something about the red-haired woman made Andrea feel at home around her, and she wanted Willow to know. Willow’s eyes had widened, glistening with happy tears, then she embraced Andrea and congratulated her, and encouraged her to announce it to the rest of The Coach House Trailer Park residents that night. Everyone seemed thrilled for her and George, and she’d been overwhelmed by questions and baby stories and hugs from people she’d seen around the park, but never bothered to get to know.

  About once a week, there’d be a little basket of goodies waiting on their doorstep when they got home from work in the mornings. Sometimes it contained healthy snacks like homemade granola bars or soothing herbal teas for heart-burn, other times there were gifts for the coming baby—a pair of hand-knit booties, a hooded blanket trimmed in satin, a plastic rubber ducky that squeaked when you squeezed it. Andrea thought it must be Willow’s doing, whether she put the baskets together herself, or gathered gifts from the other women in the neighborhood, but there was never a name on the card, no one in particular to thank.

  Finally, after coming home to the fourth or fifth basket, Andrea made her way down to Pru’s that afternoon, and asked her what she knew about them.

  Pru confirmed that Willow was indeed responsible, and although Andrea made her a hand-crafted thank-you card, she thought it was a rather inadequate way of showing just how much the gifts and the heart behind them meant to her.

  Andrea’s parents kicked her out of the house after they caught her stealing for the umpteenth time, and George was now her only family. Having Pru below, always checking up on her, Myra offering to do her laundry for her, Edith waving and calling her “Little Mama” from her front porch whenever Andrea checked the mail, and Willow leaving love gifts, this was as close to being surrounded by family as she’d felt in a long time.

  “Andrea,” Willow’s cool hand pressed against her cheek. “Pru called an ambulance. We’re not going to leave you, okay? George is right here, too.” Andrea nodded, grateful for the calming voice of her neighbor. She closed her eyes and listened to the hushed voices in the room; they sounded hollow to her, a jumble of noises bouncing around the small space.

  She tuned into the smooth, gentle tones of Willow’s voice. “George, why don’t you get cleaned up and dressed. Pack a bag of clothes for both of you, okay?” Andrea was glad he was being given a job to do; she could only imagine how terrified he was.

  Another contraction gripped her body and she writhed on the bed, her moans becoming a wail as more liquid poured out of her, and the fear of losing her baby washed over her in waves. As her cries subsided, she could still hear them like echoes in the distance…no, that was sirens, and they were coming for her.

  “Hold on, baby. Hold on,” she whimpered, drawing her knees up to her belly, embracing the child inside her with her whole body. “Hold on.”

  She opened her eyes as a team of medics surged into the bedroom, one carrying a strange chair contraption. She eyed it skeptically. The uniformed crew worked quickly, first directing a volley of questions at her; she couldn’t concentrate on anything they were saying, though.

  “Is my baby going to be okay?” That was the only thing that mattered. “There’s so much blood.”

  “We’re going to get you to the doctor as quickly as we can, okay?” Andrea might be in agony, but she knew what it meant when people avoided answering questions. She’d experienced a lot of that in rehab, no one quite willing to commit to any guarantees about how she was doing, if she’d ever leave that place, if she was going to die before the stuff worked its way out of her system.

  Pain wrapped its crushing arms around her again and she cried out, one arm flailing for George, but the medic was peppering him with questions now. It was Willow’s hand she found, it was Willow’s voice who murmured comfortingly.

  “Breathe with me. In slowly through your nose, blow out slowly. Help your baby, Andrea. Stay focused on your little one.” As the contraction subsided, she saw George’s face come into view and she tried to smile at him.

  “I’m right here, Andy. I love you, baby. I’m here.”

  One of the uniformed men drew the chair contraption up beside the bed; she saw it was draped with plastic liners. George helped her sit up, and Willow place a sweater around her shoulders.

  “We’re taking you downstairs in this chair, Andrea,” a strong-jawed woman said, leaning down to look her in the eyes. “Let’s try to get you over here before your next contraction. Can you help us do that?”

  Andrea nodded, her eyes finding George’s as the technicians hoisted her into the chair, her legs slick and sticky with her blood. They wrapped her sheet around her, then the blanket from the bed, then strapped her in. In a matter of minutes, they were hoisting her down the stairs, George having gone ahead of them and waiting at the bottom beside a gurney.

  Once inside the ambulance, they strapped a fetal heart monitor around her belly, and she wept with relief when she heard the swishing sound of a heartbeat. George, who had climbed in beside her, squeezed her hand. No one spoke, no one said anything reassuring to them, but Andrea felt certain that if she could hear that little heartbeat, her baby was going to be okay.

  Fifteen minutes and three terrible contractions later, they pulled up outside the emergency room and wheeled her inside, in the throes of another one. She felt George’s bones grinding together as she gripped his hand, but he didn’t flinch or pull away and she loved him insanely for it.

  As the contractions increased in both frequency and intensity, Andrea knew in her heart that her body would not hold this baby any longer. Once in labor and delivery, a nurse pulled George away from the bed, and Andrea cried out for him. The same nurse bent low over her, making eye-contact with her just the way the medic had done in their apartment.

  “Andrea, we need to hook you up to our monitors. I need you to be strong for your baby now, okay? Your husband is right here, but we need room to work.” She pointed at George who stood in the corner of the room, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his eyes wide and worried.

  Within moments, wires connected her to the machines beside the bed, the screens coming to life. The room stilled, and everyone seemed to hold their collective breaths for just a moment.

  Then suddenly, like a wave of water, everyone burst into action.

  “I need a heartbeat! Find that heartbeat!”

  Chapter 3

  Andrea surfaced in a state of numbed detachment, but intuition told her she was no longer pregnant. She opened her eyes to see George’s haggard face close to hers, lit by the muted glow of the low light on the wall behind her bed. He’d fallen asleep with his head on the edge of her pillow. Her hand, with its hospital identification tag and IV lines taped to the back of her wrist, resting in his.

  She turned away from the sorrow etched into every feature even in his sleep; she couldn’t bear it. Closing her eyes, she drifted off again, in search of her baby. Where was he? She’d given birth to a little boy; for some reason she knew that.

  When she awoke again, a male nurse was standing over her, removing an empty pouch with traces of what looked like blood in it from the IV pole positioned near the head of her bed. He turned to check the other lines in her hand, then noticed her watching him.

  “Good morning, Andrea.” He spoke quietly, his voice deep and husky, the sadness in it contradicting his words. It was dark outside the window, so she assumed it was pre
dawn. “I’m glad you’re awake.” He smiled at her, but she could see it was one of solace, not celebration.

  “Where’s my baby?” She already knew the answer—in her heart she knew he was gone—but she needed to hear someone confirm it. Maybe it was all just a bad dream. When the nurse didn’t immediately respond, she asked again, her voice catching, her throat scratchy and dry.

  “Where’s my baby?” She stared at him, begging him for answers with her eyes.

  “I’ll get the doctor, Andrea. And George. He’s just outside your room.”

  “Don’t ignore me, please.” Suddenly, it was vitally important that this man, the first person she saw coming out of her nightmare, be the one to tell her. She needed to hear this nurse, who was giving her life-sustaining fluids, tell her that her baby was dead.

  “Please.” She latched onto his wrist and he immediately twisted away; she had no strength to hold onto him. “Please tell me,” she whispered, and closed her eyes.

  He didn’t leave, much to her surprise. He was silent for a few moments, then spoke softly, gently. “Andrea, I’m going to get George. I want him here for you, okay? I’m coming right back, and we’ll talk. I promise.”

  She didn’t respond, so he patted her forearm where it rested on the bed, and she listened to the squeak of his shoes as he left the room. Moments later, he returned with George, who hurried to her side, leaning down to kiss her cheek, scooping up her hand and clutching it to his chest.

  “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here, honey.” His blonde hair stuck out in tufts all over his head, his tee-shirt was rumpled, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

  “How long was I out?”

  “Since last night. You’ve lost a lot of blood.” He eyed the empty pouch the nurse had checked only minutes before. “That was your last one, and you’re going to be okay.”

  She felt her eyes filling with tears, surprised she had any left to shed. “Where is he?” she begged.

  “Oh, Andy.” He held her gaze, but his eyes glistened with sorrow. “You were so brave.”

  “Where is my baby!” she cried out. “Why won’t anyone answer my question?” Her voice broke and she shoved at George’s chest, then pulled her hand out of his grasp. “Why can’t you answer one stupid question? What did you people do with him?”

  Andrea knew she was walking a fine line; she’d been on this razor’s edge before. The panic rising up in her felt just like it did when she was in need of a fix, and the fear of what would happen to her if she couldn’t get one was enough to turn her into a monster. At rehab, they’d stood by, at the ready, while she paced her tiny room, banging her fists on the walls, pulling her hair and scratching at whatever it was just under her skin, clawing at the glass on her one small window. At least she’d been able to move around, walk, scream, curse.

  “Andy, baby—”

  “Don’t call me that!” she growled. She could feel the muscles in her jaw trying seize up, she was grimacing so fiercely. The words wrenched from between her clenched teeth again. “Don’t call me that.”

  “Andrea.” It was the nurse on the other side of her. “Your son died last night.”

  The words were like fire searing across her thoughts, and she turned to him, desperate to hear more. Finally, the truth. His eyes, too, were moist, and she had the fleeting thought that it must be terrible to be in his shoes on days like this.

  “You worked hard last night to give him life, but he didn’t have the strength to pull through.” He placed a soothing hand on her shoulder; she could feel the folds of the hospital gown between his palm and her flesh, the snap closure, even the seams holding the edges of the fabric together. Time stopped, sound faded, and she closed her eyes.

  She remembered everything. They couldn’t find a heartbeat. Too late for a cesarean. The contractions kept coming. So much blood. She kept fading in and out, but when they told her to push, she pushed. She cried out like a wild animal, her body tearing in two, then she waited for the cry that never came. A boy. Her sweet baby boy.

  “What day is it? What day was he born?” she asked, not opening her eyes. She didn’t care who answered.

  George took her hand again. “He was born at 11:20 yesterday morning, October 9th. Today is the 10th.”

  “Did you hold him?” She opened her eyes but turned her gaze on the place where her rounded belly used to be. “Did you tell him that I love him?”

  George nodded, swallowing hard, but didn’t speak. He looked over at the nurse, his eyes beseeching.

  “Would you like to see him, Andrea?”

  They brought him to her, his tiny body wrapped in the satin-trimmed blanket Willow had given her, his head covered in a blue and white striped stocking cap. At first, she just looked at him, not sure if she could bear holding him, but when the nurse handed him to George, her arms came up of their own volition. George settled the little bundle in Andrea’s embrace and she turned onto her side, drawing her knees up, and bending her head forward, embracing her baby once again with her body.

  She fell asleep that way, and awoke an hour later, her womb cramping as it continued to flush out the remains of her pregnancy. She straightened her legs gingerly, wincing at how tender everything was. George sat dozing in a chair right beside her, his hand resting like a cap over their son’s head.

  “John,” she murmured. She sensed George looking at her and she met his gaze. “I dreamed we called him John.”

  George nodded and smiled bitter-sweetly. She didn’t know when she would ever smile again. “You choose a middle name,” she whispered, suddenly swept up in the holy ritual of bestowing a name on their firstborn son.

  George was silent for so long she wondered if he’d drifted to sleep again, but then he spoke, his voice quiet, weary. “Lathrop. That was my grandpa’s name. I know it’s old-fashioned, but I—”

  “I love it,” she said when he didn’t continue. “John Lathrop Graham. What a strong name for a strong little man.”

  George leaned forward and kissed the top of her head, then the top of their son’s head. “We love you, John Lathrop Graham.”

  Chapter 4

  Leaving the hospital without a baby was almost worse than coming in the way she had, but Andrea wanted to go home more than anything. She and George had made The Coach House Trailer Park their home for four years now, and even though she dreaded what mayhem lay ahead of her, she wanted to go back to what was familiar as quickly as possible.

  The drive home felt hollow, the two feet of space between them stretched out like miles, and for the first time in all the years they’d been together, she felt hesitant to reach out to him. When they arrived back at the park, Willow was there to meet them, and Andrea was glad. She didn’t think she could face their bedroom, just she and George; not in the condition they’d left it. George supported her with an arm around her waist as they mounted the stairs together, Willow right behind them.

  “I made a big pot of soup; it’s on the stove for whenever you’re hungry. It’s homemade chicken and dumplings, and there are some apple-elderberry tarts for dessert.” Willow held the door open for them and George walked Andrea through the front room, down the hall, straight to their bedroom.

  To Andrea’s surprise, the room was spotless. There was no evidence anywhere that such a traumatic event had occurred here only a few mornings ago. The bed was made, no piles of clothes scattered around the floor, her work shoes tucked out of view. It was a welcome sight to the heartsick girl, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she slipped in between the covers on her side of the bed she shared with the only man she’d ever loved.

  Until now. Her heart felt torn in two as she lay there in the cool darkness of their bedroom. Half of it beat a steady rhythm that proved life went on, the other half flailed feebly, resisting the forces that kept it pumping blood through her circulatory system.

  They’d lived their lives in the tiny circle of just the two of them, George’s parents were divorced and living on opposite sides of the c
ontinent, Andrea’s family having put her out. They rarely spent time with more than a few friends from work every now and then. In fact, going to Willow’s cookout back in July had been a big stretch for them, but they’d both agreed after the fact that it was a wonderful way to spend the holiday.

  But because they had so few people in their lives, and limited finances, they’d decided to have a simple, small ceremony in the hospital chapel, then they gave permission to the hospital to make arrangements for John’s body.

  They’d said goodbye to John Lathrop that morning, but Andrea could still feel the fragile weight of him against her breast. She wrapped her arms around a pillow and buried her face in it, bringing her knees up like she’d done in the hospital when she held John in her arms. Maybe she could will herself to die, find a way to be with her baby again.

  Her body heaved and trembled with grief, but she had no more tears, nothing left to pour out, nothing but the blood that had slowed, but continued to flow from her body. They assured her it was normal after giving birth, but there was nothing normal about coming home without one’s baby. A mother of a stillborn son shouldn’t have to endure the aftermath of a healthy pregnancy; it was a cruel twist of fate.

  ~ ~ ~

  Nine days later, Andrea was still in bed. She got up to use the bathroom and not much else. She never ate the food George brought her—the casseroles and chicken dinners their neighbors dropped off for them—but she gathered her wits about her enough to go warm up a can of soup when her stomach growled louder than her morbid thoughts. She hadn’t showered since coming home and she knew she smelled terrible.

  She didn’t care.

  George had gone back to work a few days after they’d come home from the hospital. There was really nothing wrong with her that prevented him from leaving her alone, and she strongly encouraged him to go.