Julia's Hope

by Leisha Kelly

  “Don’t you worry,” Louise assured me. “Emma’s the finest midwife there ever was. She’ll tell you just everythin’ you need to do.”

  Midwife. No wonder everybody thought it was perfectly normal to call on Emma. I could picture her somehow, bringing child after child into the world. Why had no one told us before that she was a midwife?

  “You’re looking pale, Julia,” Emma said with a twinkle in her eye.

  “I’m feeling pale.”

  “You do what needs done, honey. That’s the best call a’ God there ever was.” She gave my arm a little squeeze. “We ain’t got nothin’ if we don’t do for each other. That’s the way folks is s’posed to be.”

  Emma must have loved the very idea of a birth—she was glowing with anticipation. “Put my sewing things in a bag, will you? And a couple a’ sheets an’ extra towels? Oh, Juli, what a time!”

  Paul the tent maker. Emma the midwife. They were far beyond me, both of them, and I felt small and bare.

  Samuel accepted the whole situation far better than I did, pulling Sarah into his lap and explaining that she would be going to play with Mr. Post’s puppies so I could help Rorey’s little brother or sister be born. He kissed me as we climbed together into the back of the Posts’ pickup. I threw down Emma’s sewing bag, my hands still shaking. How would the Hammonds react to us showing up over there? They hadn’t asked us to come. Wilametta had meant for me to leave and could scarcely have been more plain about it.

  Yet Emma was actually whistling a jolly sort of tune. She knew her part, knew her call, and was confident that Wilametta Hammond would receive her like she was water to quench a thirst.

  Sarah sat next to me, smiling, her bumps and scrapes forgotten. “Say hello to Grace when you see her, Mommy,”

  she said proudly. “Give her a little kiss from me and God.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Samuel

  George wasn’t home when we got to the Hammonds’. He was out looking for the Muellers like Emma had said he would be. Poor Julia was looking worried, especially when their oldest girl came running out of house. The harried-looking teenager was so glad to see Emma that she burst into tears.

  “Joey and Frank’ve been wantin’ to fetch you,” she said, “But Pa’s got the wagon.”

  “She pretty uncomfortable, then?” Emma asked her.

  “Yes, ma’am. She ain’t hollerin’, but she say somethin’ feels differ’nt this time.”

  Julia was as white as I’d ever seen her. I squeezed her hand, and she grabbed for Emma’s things.

  “Samuel, you’re gonna hafta carry me right to Wila’s side now,” Emma commanded. “Lizbeth, you get the little ones to help you make sure there’s plenty a’ clean washin’ water drawed, then keep ’em far enough that they don’t hear nothin’.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Lizbeth wiped her hands on her droopy pink apron and took off running.

  I’d picked up Emma before, but this time she seemed as light as a child. “Now don’t stew,” she told me. “We’ll make out just fine.”

  Julia climbed down from the truck behind me. She didn’t say a word except to tell Sarah to stay put and that I’d be right back out to her.

  I felt funny leaving them, with Mrs. Hammond looking red and sick and Julia in the kitchen, trying to get the stove lit. Emma told the rest of us to go on, which I thought was crazy. Didn’t any of them think to get a doctor? Wasn’t that where Barrett and I should be heading, instead of over to his place to patch his roof? I even said so, but Emma assured me that Wilametta wouldn’t have a doctor set foot in her house.

  And Barrett was in a hurry to get going. He even honked his horn for me, but I wouldn’t leave without hugging my wife and gaining some assurance from her that it was all right for me to go. She told me it was, that women did fine with midwives most of the time and that she’d be okay just as soon as she got done shaking in her shoes.

  “I’m sorry I got us into this,” she said.

  “How do you figure you did it?” I asked.

  She looked like she was about to cry. “This was all my idea. There’s just so much I didn’t know we’d have to think about.”

  I held her tight until Emma called her name.

  “They’ll thank you for doing your best,” I said.

  “Please just be praying,” she said, and then went to see whatever it was that Emma needed. I reluctantly went back outside to the waiting truck.

  “C’mon!” Barrett called. “It’s bad luck for the menfolks to be staying about at a time like this!”

  “Does that include doctors?”

  “No. But a lot of women prefers it just women, and I reckon I understand that. Ain’t that so, Louise? You gonna stay and help out?”

  “It’s so, but I don’t aim to stay. I get weak-kneed if there’s any blood and such.”

  I could hear some kid crying not far off, and it made my stomach burn. “Don’t you think it makes sense for all of us to stay?” I asked them. “At least till George gets back? That biggest girl might need help with the kids or want to be with her mother.”

  “You’re right about that,” Barrett agreed. “Louise, if you went walking with the youngest ones, or some such, you might not even hear no yellin’ from the house. Be good if you’d do it. Most of the women ’round here’d do it, if they found theirself here like this.”

  Louise didn’t look happy about that suggestion. Being on the Hammond property at all seemed to be distasteful to her, but she reluctantly agreed, and Barrett smiled.

  “Gonna have to leave Sarah too,” she said. “You men can’t watch her up on no roof.”

  “We need to be here,” I told the Posts. “In case something happens and they need the truck to get more help.

  It’s not right, us just leaving them here without George and his wagon.”

  Barrett gave me a frown. “It’s bad luck. I ain’t goin’ in that house.”

  “You don’t have to. We can stay out here.”

  Barrett was quiet as Sarah and Louise got out of the truck to go find Lizbeth.

  “Tell you what,” he finally said. “I can understand you feelin’ thataway with your wife bein’ so new at this. You set out here and wait, if that’s what you want. I’ll go on and see if I can’t find George and tell him what’s goin’ on.”

  It wasn’t what I had in mind, him leaving with the truck. But it was better than nothing. “Thank you,” I said. “If you can’t find him, come back and tell me.”

  He nodded, got in the truck, and drove off. Sarah came running back to me. “Please,” she wailed. “Can I stay with you?”

  Louise looked in our direction for a second, then headed back toward the barn, where the noise of children was the loudest. Pretty soon Lizbeth came flying past us to go back in the house, and I heard what sounded like singing coming from the hayloft. That was hard to picture, Mrs. Post in there singing with the Hammond kids, but it made my heart glad.

  That’s when I remembered Robert. How would he know what was happening if we weren’t home by the time school was out? Maybe there was a Hammond at school with him, and maybe they’d stop here first. But not being sure of that, I decided I’d better walk out and meet him when the time came, if we were still here. And we probably would be, since these things took time.

  “Let’s pray for Mrs. Hammond,” I told Sarah, and she took my hand.

  “She’s havin’ a baby, Daddy. She’s gonna call it Grace. She told me so.”

  “Fine name. I couldn’t think of a better one.”

  I bundled up my daughter in my arms, and we prayed a brief prayer for the mother and her baby, and Emma and Julia too.

  “They’ve got goats, Daddy. I broke the goat fence.”

  She showed me the broken fence. It was no wonder the thing fell. Wasn’t much of a fence, held up by wire and a nail or two. The goats were now all crowded in a little pen on the far side, waiting for somebody to repair the damage and give them more space. I wondered what George would say if he ca
me back and found me at the job. I could tell him I had to, since it was my daughter that broke it down. I couldn’t just sit there, doing nothing, that was sure. I needed something to keep my hands busy, or my brain would churn too much. It was as simple as that.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Julia

  I’d never seen a breech birth, never dreamed I’d have to. But we were there less than an hour when Emma said it wasn’t the head coming first. What scared me most was that Wilametta had passed out limp on the bed.

  “Sam could go after a doctor,” I whispered.

  “Ten mile without no horse or truck,” Emma reminded me. “And she’s this far ’long. Baby’d be gone ’fore he got halfway here.”

  Lizbeth was shaking like a leaf, poor girl. I would’ve had her out the door, but she’d begged to stay. She’d bathed her mother’s feet and her face, and now was squeezing her hand and muttering a prayer.

  I had water to wash the baby and to wash Emma, but I ended up splashing some of it on the floor. These walls, these floors, everything needed scrubbing down, but I couldn’t do it now, no matter how much I wished to turn my mind to something mundane.

  Emma had said she wanted me right by her side so I could hear every instruction she gave me. I heard, all right, and I did my best, but I was walking on jelly, my clumsy hands just going through the motions. I’d never felt so totally inadequate in all my life. Wilametta looked for all the world to be unconscious, her baby was breech, and I was not as strong as I’d thought myself to be.

  “I done this once before,” Emma assured us. “Tricky thing, but you can be sure the good Lord’s got it all in hand.”

  That set me to crying, and I didn’t know why. I could just imagine Emma suddenly keeling over, and then where would we be? God help us.

  I passed Lizbeth another wet cloth to bathe her mother’s forehead and spread a fresh sheet at the foot of the bed to receive the baby.

  “If George gets back, or Mr. Post, can we send them for the doctor?” I asked Emma hopefully.

  “You can try,” she told me. “Barrett might go. But George wouldn’t. Not to save his hide, he wouldn’t. He don’t believe in it.”

  Emma was up on the lumpy old mattress, balanced next to Wilametta’s knees, looking every bit of her eighty-four years and then some. “C’mon, now, Wila. Push,” she said. She looked worried, and I turned my eyes away. But somehow Emma knew that Wila was hearing her.

  “Can’t,” Mrs. Hammond muttered, and I was mighty glad just to hear her voice.

  “You’re gonna hafta, girl!” Emma scolded. “You want her out here with ya now, don’t ya?”

  Wila didn’t answer, just gave out a terrible moan. I wondered why in the world she hadn’t told me before that she was having trouble. Maybe she hadn’t really known yet and didn’t think I could have done much anyway.

  “C’mon, now, Wila.”

  The poor woman suddenly screamed, and Lizbeth clenched her teeth and started to cry silently. She squeezed her mama’s hand again and kissed her cheek. Wila finally pushed like Emma had told her to, while I prayed. In the kitchen, the kettle was whistling, but not one of us paid it a bit of attention.

  “Here come them legs,” Emma said. “Juli, honey, get yourself up here.”

  That command made my hands shake, but there was nothing to do but obey. I got myself just as close as I could as Wila started pushing again.

  “You be ready,” Emma told me. “If the head don’t come easy, you’ll have to give her a push.”

  I didn’t know what she meant by that. And I couldn’t understand how Emma could look so tired but strong as the hills at the same time.

  Wila gave out a yell that surely could have been heard all the way to the pond. “Can’t do this, Emma!” she shrieked. “Can’t do this!”

  “You ain’t got no choice now, honey! Oughta see what I got here too. You got you a girl! Can’t stop now.”

  “Grace,” Wila whispered and tried to lift her head. Strands of sweat-soaked hair flopped against her cheek.

  “Don’t you be movin’!” Emma warned. “Not yet, Wila. You’ll be holdin’ her soon enough, now.” She braced herself as Wila fell back against the pillows, yelled, and pushed again.

  I could see most of the baby laying across Emma’s arm and prayed we were finished. But Wila was still pushing and getting no farther.

  “Right here!” Emma commanded me. “You feel that? Push now! Gotta get her head free so’s she can draw breath!” I put my hands just where she showed me and could feel a hard little lump in Wila’s abdomen.

  “You watch! When Wila gives her a good hard push, you push too, now!”

  She reached for Grace’s head with her free hand, and I felt like my stomach had been flipped over sideways. Did you have this in mind, Lord? Did you know what I was getting myself into, wanting to stay here?

  “’Bout got her, I think. Come on, now, baby.” Emma had a strange gleam in her eye, a passion I could not fathom. God help me, I wanted to run. I would have run, clear out of the room, if there’d been anyone else to take my place. But Emma wanted to be here and would stay even if a wagon full of doctors rolled in. She would stay just to take Mrs. Hammond’s hand. And I thought I finally understood her. Hammonds were family too.

  “Wila, honey, I think I got her,” Emma announced. “Lord willin’, I do! Push now. Come on and push.”

  Wila barely had any strength left. She moaned and strained and then fell back against the pillows again.

  “It’s all right, Mama,” Lizbeth coaxed. “We’s almost done. Emma, ain’t we almost done?”

  “Almost. Don’t you go passin’ out on me again, now, Wilametta, hear? Push. You’re gonna have this baby t’ the breast ’fore you can say jumpin’ Jehoshaphat! Come on!”

  I looked up at Emma and saw the sweat dripping down from her wrinkled old nose. She looked worried, but just about mad too, she was so determined to see this through. I thought I heard boys’ voices outside for just a minute, and then Sam’s, but I wasn’t sure. Wila was pushing again, and I pushed too, and suddenly the hard little lump was gone.

  “Looky there!” Emma exclaimed. “Oh, praise the Lord! Ain’t that the prettiest thing you ever seen?”

  Wila gave out a moan and then sank away in a faint. It wasn’t till then I realized Emma was crying. I grabbed a towel to wipe the sweat and tears from her face, thinking that she had to be able to see. It was more than a marvel, her doing this when she couldn’t manage to get her own needle threaded. But she grabbed the towel away and wiped off the baby, blowing on the little face at the same time.

  Little Grace Hammond hadn’t made a sound or moved a muscle. Emma wiped around her nose and mouth and gave her little feet a swat. “Get me some water,” she ordered. “Not too hot. Let’s get her good and mad.”

  I brought the bowl and dipped a clean cloth in it. Emma bathed the tiny child’s face and neck, and the baby finally wiggled one arm and made a little noise, like the bleat of a sheep. Emma took a clean towel and patted her dry.

  “Did you hold them scissors in the fire?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Get ’em. Got to cut this cord, honey, so we can wrap her up and keep her warm.”

  I lifted the scissors, but I was scared to do the cutting. What if I did something wrong?

  Emma tied the cord in two places with bias tape she’d brought in her sewing basket. She looked up at me and must have seen the terror in my eyes, because she took the scissors and did the one quick cut herself.

  “Get me the little blanket Lizbeth brought in.”

  I handed her the pretty thing that really may have been Lizbeth’s, it looked so old. But it was clean. Trimmed with lace and bands of yellow, it was one of the nicer things I’d seen in the Hammond house. Emma wrapped the baby and handed her to me.

  “You take her, Juli,” Emma said. “I gotta see to Wila, get that bleedin’ stopped. Lizbeth, rub her good, will you? See if you can get her stirred back ’round.”

 
; I felt so dumb and helpless, just standing there, holding the baby. I was scared Wila would die, scared Lizbeth would give up and get hysterical, scared Emma would fall over from exhaustion. I prayed hard, wishing I could run outside and scream for the whole world to pray with me. Tears coursed down my cheeks before I could stop them, and then little Grace Hammond finally let out a holler.

  “God bless my mama,” Lizbeth cried as she clung to Wilametta’s hand.

  “She’s breathin’. Now don’t you worry,” Emma told her.

  Wilametta moaned and opened her eyes a little bit.

  “Get that baby over here,” Emma called, and I rushed forward.

  “It’s a girl, honey,” Emma said, and I could see Wilametta smile.

  “My Grace! Oh, is she pretty, Mrs. Wortham? God bless you! Lizbeth, is she pretty?”

  “Very pretty, Mama.”

  I laid little Grace between Lizbeth and her mother. Wila didn’t look to have the strength to hold her, but Lizbeth scooted her up to her mother’s chest.

  “Oughta known after nine babies that this’un wouldn’t be long at comin’,” Emma scolded. “You shoulda sent George after me first thing.”

  “No, no,” Wila said, looking pale. “You rest, Emma. Lizbeth, make her rest.”

  But Emma would have none of that. She got me started cleaning up but she wouldn’t leave me to do it alone. I was surprised at the stamina she had shown that day, hovering over Wila and refusing to rest her own weary bones. You learn more about a person when you live things right beside them, and I imagined I’d learned Emma pretty well after all this, though I’d known her so short a time.

  George came in about a half hour after the birth and didn’t say anything at all. He just gave Wila’s hand a squeeze and touched little Grace’s cheek, and then went back out. I’d never seen him look that way, like a boy almost, humbled by something bigger than himself. I felt the same. I expect we all did.