Love Hurts

by Brenda Grate

  "Really?"

  "Yes, really." Jilly leaned her head back against the window frame. “She was sad not to see you, though. She's painting now, but I think you should go to her."

  Anna studied her sister for a minute.

  "What?" Jilly asked when she couldn't read Anna's expression.

  "You're different. Relaxed. Peaceful maybe."

  "I guess I am," Jilly said. "I feel better, like, uh, I can't describe it actually. I guess peaceful is the best way, but it's more than that. I painted for a while with Mamma." At Anna's surprised look Jilly smiled with a wry twist of her lips. "Yes, I know, we could never have done it before. Mamma would have pushed me and tried to get me to paint better. I still don't know why—”

  "Yes, you do," Anna broke in.

  Jilly's arched eyebrow asked the question.

  "You're painting true to your inner vision rather than what you think she'd want you to paint. That's all she ever wanted you to do. You weren't being honest with yourself or with the canvas. Remember how Mamma would say that all the time."

  Jilly nodded. "Yes, that's right. She said it was something her Papà said to her." Jilly tilted her head, thinking. “I’ve got it. He said, 'Be honest with the canvas. You can lie anywhere else but there. The canvas demands your truth.' Wow.” Jilly rubbed her nose. "I was lying all this time, and that's why I was so frustrated."

  "And Mamma knew it."

  "How did she know?" Jilly asked.

  "I think it's because she's always been completely truthful herself, even when the truth hurt. She could recognize a counterfeit."

  Both women looked at each other. Anna could tell her sister was thinking of the child in Mamma's paintings too.

  "Oh, Anna."

  They both whirled around at Mamma’s voice. Anna lowered her gaze, hoping Mamma wouldn't be upset they'd been discussing her.

  "Thank you for saying that." Mamma moved to the window and held out her hand. Anna took it and Mamma pulled her to her feet. Anna stood in front of her, seeing with fresh eyes just how much she resembled her mother. For the first time in her life, she felt it was an honor.

  "You're very right to say it's hard to be honest, but the canvas demands it of me. Or, maybe it was Papà who drilled it into me, and now I can't do any different."

  Anna wanted nothing more than to hug her mother. She hadn't hugged her since she was a tiny girl. Before she could think further, Mamma pulled her close.

  The smell, that familiar scent of spicy orange blossom that was her mother, enveloped her and brought tears to her eyes. She knew in that moment that no matter how old a woman got, she still needed her mother. Then she felt Jilly's arms wrap around them both and the tears fell faster. She could almost hear the crack in their family mending right in that moment. Yes, they would have to work through the years of misunderstanding, but this is where it all began.

  After a few minutes, they all pulled away and wiped their eyes. Mamma stepped back and studied her daughters.

  “I have a story to tell you both if you will let me.”

  Anna nodded her acquiescence, curious to hear what she would say.

  "Yes, of course, Mamma," Jilly said.

  "But, first, I'd like to talk to you. I had some time with Jilly today," she smiled a fond smile at her younger daughter, "and I'd like the same with you."

  Anna took Mamma's hand in answer. They walked toward the stairs to the third floor, to Mamma's studio.

  "There's something I have to show you," Mamma said.

  Anna stopped on the threshold. Mamma wrapped an arm around Anna’s shoulders and led her forward. An easel near the largest of the windows in the studio held a large painting. It was a close-up shot of a very handsome man. He had a Roman nose and piercing, dark brown eyes. His mouth was full and sensuous.

  Anna stepped closer, studying his face. She didn't know him, but realized at once that he was someone important. Mamma rarely did portraits, but had obviously spent a long time on this one. There was love in each brushstroke. She wondered at first if this was a young version of her Papà, but dismissed the thought as soon as it came to her. This man was young, much younger than Mamma would have remembered her Papà. This man was just out of boyhood. His maturity sat light on him. He was in his prime, but his carefree childhood was still visible on his face.

  Anna longed to reach out and touch his cheek, but wouldn't dare mar the painting with the oils in her fingers. Instead, she reached up and touched her own chin. She felt the outline and knew. This man had to be her father.

  Mamma stepped to her side. “He's your father," as if she'd read Anna's mind.

  "Oh, Mamma," Anna's voice was barely a whisper. "He's gorgeous.” Anna looked up just as Mamma wiped a single tear from her cheek. "You still love him." It wasn't a question. All Mamma's feelings were naked on her face. "What happened?" Anna felt a surge of curiosity, but also felt like she intruded on something very private and painful.

  Mamma turned her back on the painting and gave Anna a small smile. The pain she still felt crept in at the edges, but it was an old pain, one that Mamma had lived with for many years and learned to be, if not comfortable, then at least to co-exist with it.

  "It's all part of my story, honey. I just wanted you to see him before I told the story. And I wanted to say how sorry I am that I never allowed you to know him.”

  Mamma took Anna’s hand. “Come. It’s time I told you and your sister my story.”

  Chapter 21

  “Catarina!”

  The voice came from a long way away. Catarina rolled over and snuggled deeper into the warm blankets.

  “Catarina!”

  The strident voice of her mother calling from her bedroom fully woke Catarina. She sat up in bed. Rain pounded on the roof, and thunder rumbled so loudly Catarina could feel it in her teeth. She shivered and pulled the blanket around her shoulders. The fire must have gone out.

  “Catarina, you stupid girl. Wake up, I need you.”

  Catarina wasn’t surprised by the tone of her mother’s voice or her words. She was surprised, though, by how weak it was. She shot out of bed. The baby!

  She raced into Mamma’s room, and the baby was already well on the way. Mamma, covered in sweat, had thrown off the blankets, and she writhed in pain.

  “I’ll go get Maria,” Catarina said and whirled for the door.

  She raced to the front of the house, saw the fire was definitely out, but didn’t stop. She needed help. She couldn’t help Mamma with the baby. Papà was gone on a trip to sell his paintings. Catarina was only ten and hadn’t seen a baby born, let alone helped with one. She grabbed her coat off the hook and opened the door.

  The force of the storm nearly pushed her back inside. She slipped her coat on and stepped out, gritting her teeth against the cold. Catarina had to put all her weight behind closing the door. She ran across the garden and down the road. The wind buffeted her, but determination pushed her onward.

  I hope Mamma’s okay while I’m gone. Catarina thought about how Mamma must be feeling and her stomach tightened with fear. What if I can’t find Maria in time?

  The storm grew fiercer and Catarina slowed. She couldn’t run any longer. It was like she wasn’t even moving. A huge gust of wind hit her from the side and knocked her down into the mud. Catarina screamed as she fell. She climbed up and steadied herself, wiping the mud on her coat. Mamma would understand, she hoped.

  A flash of lightning, and then thunder boomed overhead. Catarina started running again, determined to get to Maria before the storm could stop her. It was only about a mile and a half to the midwife’s house, but it felt like twenty. Each step felt like it would take the last of her energy.

  Why did Papà have to leave so close to the baby coming? Tears poured down Catarina’s face, competing with the rain. We need Papà now!

  The storm lashed harder and Catarina picked up her speed. Now she wanted nothing more than to be inside and safe.

  The rain had washed out the road. She hadn’t
even thought about that possibility, even though it happened at least once or twice a year. There was no way around it. Catarina was more than halfway to Maria’s house, but there was nothing she could do now but turn around. She sobbed harder at the thought of helping Mamma have a little baby. What if she did something wrong and hurt the baby? What if Mamma died?

  Catarina raced back toward the house. She fell two more times and was covered in mud by the time she got to the house. She burst inside, the door slamming against the wall, pushed by the wind.

  “Maria, quick, I’m in the back room,” Mamma called out as soon as she heard the door.

  Catarina couldn’t answer her, she gulped at the air, but couldn’t seem to satiate her heaving lungs. The tears still flowed. She wrestled the door closed and stood panting while she tried to figure out what to do, the tears slowing as she considered her options. She couldn’t help Mamma have a baby without cleaning up, but the baby might be already here. With that thought, Catarina raced to the back room.

  “Catarina, where is Maria?” Mamma looked worse, but at least there was no baby yet.

  “I’m so sorry, Mamma, I couldn’t get to her. The road was washed out.”

  Mamma let out a loud moan. “I’m going to die,” she wailed.

  Catarina raced toward the bed and patted her Mamma’s arm. “No, Mamma, no please, you’re not going to die. I’ll help you. I’ll do my best.”

  “What do you think you can do, you pathetic girl? You’re useless.” Mamma turned her face away from Catarina.

  Catarina backed away from the bed. She didn’t know what to do, but she didn’t want her Mamma to die either. She thought back to the visit Maria made a month ago to discuss the coming babe. She’d told so many stories about births until Catarina’s ears burned and she swore she’d never go through it herself. One thing popped to her mind and she ran for the kitchen.

  Within minutes she had the stove crackling with a hot fire and she’d filled the largest kettle with water and set it on top. Then she raced to the water closet to clean up and change. She didn’t have time for a bath, but she washed her face and hands in the hottest water she could manage and changed into her oldest clothes. From the stories she’d heard, bringing babies was a messy job, and she didn’t want to wreck the new clothes Papà brought her from the last market day, although the mud might have already ruined them.

  Catarina, breathing hard, rushed back into Mamma’s room. Mamma looked much the same. She still looked sweaty, which gave Catarina an idea. She ran back to the kitchen and got a small bowl of water and a cloth. She filled the bowl with cool water and carried it back to the room, careful not to spill. She didn’t want to leave water on the floor that she could slip on while carrying the baby.

  Mamma turned to Catarina with a growl as soon as she started sponging the sweat off her face. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m just trying to help you, Mamma. You look hot and sweaty.”

  Mamma said nothing more, just closed her eyes and turned her face to the wall.

  Please Mamma, don’t die. It became a mantra for Catarina as she found the baby clothes Papà brought from the market. She set up the cradle and put a soft blanket inside. Catarina started to feel anticipation for the new little sister or brother. She just hoped Mamma would do what was needed for the baby to be born.

  There was a long low moan from the bed. Catarina hurried over. “Mamma, what can I do?”

  “Get a sharp knife from the kitchen.”

  Catarina sucked in a breath and reared back from the bed.

  “No, you stupid girl, it’s for the cord,” Mamma said. Her voice lacked anger despite the words. She sounded exhausted. “Make sure you put the knife in boiling water to clean it and then wrap it in a clean cloth and bring it here. There are clean cloths in the cupboard beside the mixing bowls. I prepared them for the birth. They’ve all been boiled. Bring them as well as a big kettle of hot water.” Mamma’s voice trailed off and her eyes closed. She looked like she was asleep.

  Catarina hurried away to get everything ready. She set the cloths and the knife up on the dresser and struggled and shoved until it was close to the bed. She then checked on Mamma, patting her face and neck with the cool cloth.

  Mamma opened her eyes. “Do you have everything ready?”

  It was like Mamma didn’t even see her. Catarina shuddered.

  “Yes, Mamma, I do.”

  “Okay, now we need to put the sheet on the bed.” Mamma waved a hand at the bureau that held the birthing things. “Inside, bottom drawer, there’s a big sheet. We need to protect the mattress.”

  Catarina had no idea how she was going to be able to change the bedding with Mamma in it. She got the sheet and as she turned back toward the bed, she was startled to see Mamma climbing out of it, slowly, like an old woman, her huge belly like a massive melon. Catarina rushed to pull the blankets off and place the heavy sheet over the bed clothes. Mamma groaned and leaned against the bed. Catarina’s hands shook and fumbled. She was thankful Mamma was in too much pain to smack her head.

  “Come, Mamma.” Catarina helped her heavy mamma back into the bed, settled her on the pillow and folded away the top blankets as Mamma told her to do.

  Mamma leaned back against the pillows, grabbed her legs and groaned, her face turning purple. After a minute of this, she looked up at Catarina, her hair sweaty and stuck around her face. “Tell me if you can see the head.”

  Catarina looked down at her Mamma’s private area and resisted squeezing her eyes shut. “Not yet. Push, Mamma, push,” Catarina urged, wanting the ordeal over.

  Mamma pushed and pushed for the next half hour until Catarina was nearly as exhausted as she was. Finally Catarina yelled, “I see it, the head, the head!”

  Mamma leaned back, her face white. “I can’t push anymore.” Her head slumped over in a faint.

  Catarina shrieked and leapt toward Mamma, “No, Mamma, don’t die. You have to finish.” She grabbed the bowl of water and squeezed the cloth out. She patted Mamma’s face and neck, praying to Madonna that she would wake, that the baby would be safe. “Please, Mamma,” she begged. “The baby needs to come out.”

  After pleading for about five minutes, but it seemed like an hour, Mamma opened her eyes and got to work. She didn’t even look at her daughter, but pushed like a mad woman. Within minutes the baby slipped out and onto the bed. Catarina stood in shock until Mamma yelled at her to clean out the baby’s mouth. She rushed forward and did exactly as Mamma told her, tying off the cord with a clean piece of string, which she found among the cloths. The baby started crying, and, although it was a weak cry, it gained strength. Catarina’s face broke out in a huge grin. They’d done it, she and Mamma. They’d given birth to her little brother.

  “Mamma,” she whispered reverently. “Look, Mamma, we have a baby brother.”

  Mamma leaned back against the bed, her eyes closed. “Cut the cord now,” she said.

  Catarina’s gaze found the knife wrapped in a cloth on the bureau. Her hands shook at the thought of bringing that weapon anywhere near her baby brother.

  “Bring it to me.”

  Catarina turned to see Mamma glaring at her. She walked slowly to the bureau and unwrapped the knife. She picked it up and brought it to her mamma.

  “Now, give me the baby.”

  Catarina felt reluctant, but she carefully picked up the slippery boy and brought him close to her Mamma, who reached out and with a quick swipe sliced through the cord. A tiny amount of blood shot out and Catarina nearly dropped the baby, pulling him close to her chest just in time.

  Mamma dropped the knife to the floor and moaned like she had when she was in labor. Catarina looked between her legs, afraid another baby was coming, but instead a big blob of something came out. It wasn’t a baby, but Catarina had no idea what it was. She started to shake again.

  “It’s just the afterbirth, Catarina. Clean up the boy and then bring him to me.”

  Catarina laid her brother on the end of t
he bed and got the clean cloths, wringing them in the now warm water. She cleaned the baby and then put one of the diapers on him, just like she did on her own dolls. If felt strange. Catarina’s head buzzed with a sound like a thousand bees. She dressed her brother in a gown and wrapped him in a soft blanket, then she brought him to Mamma, reluctant now to let him go. She didn’t like the blank look on Mamma’s face.

  “Give him to me,” Mamma said, her voice harsh.

  Catarina jumped a little and held her brother closer. She stepped nearer to the bed and held him out, hoping now that Mamma would quickly fall back asleep so Catarina could take him away. He was almost like her baby and not just a brother. She felt like she’d worked nearly as hard as Mamma to bring him into the world.