by Amy Lukavics
Ma’s voice cracks at the last word, and she clears her throat.
“The human body is a marvel,” the doctor replies, his tone suddenly very serious. He cautiously slides his fat pink finger into the baby’s hand. “She may seem as though she’s in pain, but the fits are much more likely to be a result of her frustration. Hannah is different from most, so naturally your approach must be different, as well. You mustn’t doubt yourself, for you are the mother.”
I wait for Hannah to scream at the touch of a stranger. She can’t even stand it when Pa or me or one of the children try to handle her, so I know the doctor is in for an earsplitting surprise. I think Ma is even more shocked than I am when Hannah tightens her grip around the finger, and reaches out to explore his arm eagerly.
“What a little sweetheart!” Doctor Jacobson exclaims, and plucks the baby from Ma’s arms as if she is nothing more than a doll. “She doesn’t seem to mind newcomers at all, hmm?”
Ma’s jaw drops open. Pa looks irritated at his daughter’s warmth, and it’s easy to understand why—I don’t think I’ve ever seen Hannah react so lovingly to him as she does Doctor Jacobson.
“Wow!” I hear Joanna say to Charles from the back of the wagon, and the doctor seems to have heard her, as well.
“What do we have here?” he calls to the wagon. “A couple of eavesdropping hideaways, hmm?”
Doctor Jacobson balances Hannah on his hip and strides over to the wagon. He shoves his free hand into his pocket, and when it comes out there are two maple candy sticks clutched inside. “If the children are hiding, whoever shall I give these sweets to?”
My brother and sister tumble out of the back of the wagon in seconds, tripping over each other as they reach eagerly for the sweets.
“Thank you, sir!” Charles says politely, and jumps up and down in excitement with Joanna. “Ma, may we eat them now? Oh, please, Ma, can’t we have them?”
On the rare occasion that Pa would bring us sweets from the mountain colony, Ma would always force us to wait until after supper was eaten and cleaned up before indulging. The doctor’s nature seems to have the same effect on her that it does on Hannah, though, because she offers the children a smile and nods to show that she will allow it.
The wrappers are torn off in an instant, two swift crinkles of waxed paper followed by the sound of the children sucking eagerly at the maple sticks. Zeke and Emily wander around the yard, talking about the heat and the forest and Lord knows what else. The doctor pats the top of Charles’s dark curly head before turning to the camp set up in front of our cabin.
“Sleeping outside, are you?” he asks and sets Hannah down in the clearing. He watches intently as she paws around his boots. The doctor moves his foot very carefully away to the side and observes as Hannah feels her way to follow it. “I can’t imagine why anybody would choose to settle at this particular cabin.”
“Yes, well,” Pa grumbles, and shoots a glance back to the cabin. There are piles of soapsuds, pinked with blood, oozing from beneath the edges. “There was a little more work involved than I expected, but it’ll be good as new before long. It’s a nice, big place.”
The doctor frowns at the cabin and doesn’t inquire further. His face doesn’t look all that different from how Zeke’s did yesterday when he kept stealing glances at the window. I think about the infant cry I thought I heard in the night and shiver.
“I see,” Doctor Jacobson remarks simply, and continues setting up little tests for Hannah. First he creates a small trail of pebbles that lead to a soft, fluffy rabbit’s foot that has been preserved as a token, produced from his pocket. Then he stomps his foot near the first pebble to create a vibration. Hannah immediately feels around the area and finds the trail. She has the rabbit’s foot in seconds, and rubs it happily over the skin on her face while she coos at the sensation.
“Remarkable!” Doctor Jacobson exclaims and adjusts the wire spectacles sliding down his nose. “Such a smart little one. In ignorance, one would assume that a child with such a condition wouldn’t be able to get past the confusion enough to sort her own thoughts out, let alone follow a puzzle of pebbles. But she has adjusted seamlessly, as all of God’s creatures do, I suppose.”
“That’s right,” Pa says, looking at Ma. “That is absolutely right.”
Despite the praise, Ma looks uncomfortable with Doctor Jacobson’s words. “The confusion has settled a bit over time, I suppose,” Ma says and bends down to rub the baby’s head. “And the anger, too. Still, though, I have to admit that I’ve never seen her take to somebody so quickly.”
The doctor looks confused by this comment. “You don’t say,” he says and looks into my eyes for a moment, then Pa’s, as if searching for a reason as to why the baby would hate us. “Well, she’s certainly a splendid child. I’d like to come check up on her progress from time to time, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“Of course,” Ma says. “That’d be very kind of you, Doctor. Thank you.”
Pa sighs. The sky has darkened several shades in the short amount of time Doctor Jacobson has been here, and he seems to notice at the same time that I do.
“Better get back to the woods before dark,” the doctor says, and replaces the hat on his bald head. “We need to get our supper started if we want to fall asleep at a decent hour, hmm, Zeke?”
Zeke nods and heads back to the horse after one more glance at Emily. “I’ll see you all soon when I come for water in a few days,” he says. “And don’t forget that you promised to meet up for some scary stories.”
“That sounds like such fun!” Charles beams through a smile that is sticky with maple. “We love scary stories.”
“Thank you for the candy!” Joanna cries and hugs the doctor around his middle. “Come back any time!”
Doctor Jacobson laughs and thanks Ma again for the water. “Please, don’t hesitate to call upon us if you ever need a helping hand.”
“Same,” Pa says and shakes the doctor’s hand. “Let me know if you ever need a new piece of furniture.”
“Will do,” Doctor Jacobson calls over his shoulder as he mounts the gray horse with Zeke. With the click of his tongue and a quick turn, they are riding toward the woods. “See you around, neighbors!”
We watch in silence while the doctor rides away with Zeke. In a few minutes, they’ve disappeared into the trees, and the winds of the prairie whistle through the grasses as Ma starts to prepare supper.
“What a nice man,” she remarks in an empty voice. “I wonder what happened to his wife, the boy’s mother. So sad that they only have each other now.”
“I didn’t like that doctor too much,” Pa says. “He was rude.”
“Hannah seemed to love him,” Emily says. Her back is turned toward them, but I can see the suppressed half-smile bloom over her face as she tosses a few more sticks into the fire. “I think Ma’s right. It’s sad that they only have each other. We should invite them for supper every now and then.”
“Wouldn’t that just tickle your fancy,” I murmur under my breath. Emily glares.
“I can’t wait for Zeke to tell us scary stories at the fire pit.” Joanna claps excitedly, and Charles follows suit. “I bet he knows some really good ones.”
“Just as long as it’s nothing satanic,” Ma says, and Pa agrees.
When dinner has passed and it’s time to go to bed, I pray to God that I don’t dream of the crying baby inside the cabin again. Just give my heart a rest, please. I toss and turn nervously until I fall asleep in an obscure position, with my arms resting above my head and my fingertips grazing the dirt of the prairie.
In the dead of night, when I feel a tiny hand wrap itself around my wrist, I refuse to open my eyes. It’s only a piece of grass in the breeze, I lie to myself, still half asleep. There is nothing wrong here. There is nothing wrong with me.
“What between two si
sters can stay bitter for this long?” Ma wonders aloud suddenly one afternoon, after Hannah has fallen asleep in the wagon. “‘And be ye kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you.’ That is from the book of Ephesians, Amanda.”
I continue to rake the dirt of any rocks or dead grass or weeds, shoving it all outside the clearing of the newly maintained yard. In just a week we’ve managed to get rid of all the weeds, and four days ago Pa took a break from rebuilding the floor of the cabin to repair and complete the fence. I haven’t been inside the cabin since our arrival, but I can say with confidence that at least the yard looks much better.
Forgiving one another, I think and bend down painfully to uproot an especially stubborn stone with my hands. If only she knew just how much of a sinner I really am. Talk of forgiveness wouldn’t flow from her mouth with such warmth. It certainly hasn’t flown from Emily’s.
“There is no quarrel,” I answer simply and finish with the rake. My body feels strained, too strained almost, and I wonder at what point I won’t be able to do hard labor anymore. What if that moment comes before Ma and Pa notice my belly? I’d have to tell them then, actually physically say the words I am with child. The idea causes the back of my neck to break out into even more of a sweat.
I make my way to the pile of smooth, round stones that sit before the front door. Ma’s had the children collecting them for days, rewarding them with sugar lumps from the supply pile to encourage them to make haste. Today is finally the day when enough stones have been gathered, and now that we’ve finished preparing the clearing, we can begin to line the area with them.
Emily is a ways beyond the clearing, playing tag with Joanna and Charles and keeping them busy while we work.
“I will pretend that I don’t know you are lying to me,” Ma remarks and goes over to check on the baby. After she’s confirmed that Hannah is still sleeping, she motions for me to bring the rocks over to her.
“No lies, Ma.”
I kneel and gather the stones in my skirt, then walk over to her and carefully allow them to spill over the freshly raked soil at her feet. We crouch side by side and begin lining the raked portion of the clearing with the stones. After the line is no more than five feet long, Hannah stirs in the back of the wagon and begins to yell.
“Drat,” Ma mutters under her breath. “I was hoping to get much more of this done today.”
There is something that I need to do. After seeing Doctor Jacobson win Hannah over so effortlessly, using the she only likes Ma excuse to make myself feel better about standing by and doing nothing is no longer an option for me. If I’m being forced to grow up, I might as well start somewhere.
“I’ll watch her, Ma,” I offer, and stand to brush the dirt from my knees. “You go ahead and keep working.”
It is the first time anyone in the family has offered to help directly with Hannah, and the shock is evident in Ma’s face. She looks up at me admiringly, as though I am an angel, as though I am only acting from the pure goodness of my own heart.
My revelation makes me feel despicable. Perhaps if I had just grown up after last winter, if I had used it to make myself a stronger woman, I would have laughed in the post boy’s face when he asked me where I lived. I would have been a good sister to Hannah from the start.
“Are you sure?” Ma asks, clearly doubtful as she gazes over at the wagon again. “She’s awfully difficult to handle for anyone besides me.”
“I’m her big sister, Ma,” I reason, except in my head I’m saying I’m going to have my own baby, Ma. “I should be able to take care of her for you once in a while.”
“Well, thank you, Amanda.” She breaks into a smile, a real one, and it only makes me feel worse. “The Lord has blessed me with a selfless daughter.”
I don’t bother to correct her, for her smile is too beautiful, and soon I won’t be seeing it for a long, long time. I remove Hannah from the wagon, and she instantly knows that I’m not Ma, which causes her to thrash and scream, her warbled pitch even louder and harder than usual.
Ma looks up from the line of stones nervously, but I insist that everything is just fine and bring the baby with me to a spot in the clearing that is shaded by the cabin.
I sit cross-legged on the dirt and cut grass and try to press the baby’s head to my neck, like Ma does, but Hannah is still struggling against me, thrashing and wailing and throwing her skull from side to side with remarkable force. The side of her head collides with my jaw, and it makes her cry out all the more.
“Hush, sweetness,” I whisper, even though I know she cannot hear me. This is the longest I have ever held my sister.
I force her wriggling body against mine despite the screams, and begin to take breaths that are loud and long and slow.
“Huuuuuuuuh,” I hum as I exhale. My chest vibrates with the sound, and I know Hannah can feel it. “Huuuuuuuuuuuh.”
For a few seconds, nothing happens. After the fourth exhale, the baby stops struggling and falls limp in my arms, all of her weight suddenly pressed against me, and for a moment I think she has gone to sleep. Ma looks up from her work in amazement. I turn my head to observe Hannah’s face and am shocked to see that her ever-still eyes are wide-open.
“Huuuuuuuuuh,” I hum again, and the baby’s hand begins to move over my face like a curious sea star.
She touches my lips, my nose, my eyes, devouring them, learning every curve. She pulls at my hair, then runs her hand gently over it, squeezing the different sections of my braid in between her tiny, curious fingers. As she feels, her little face twists into a variety of expressions, some cute, some atrocious, all of them bright and quick as a flash before fading into the next.
“Baaargh,” Hannah moans along with me as I exhale.
I run my fingers through the baby’s curls as I continue breathing aloud. Hannah gurgles at the softened touch, and goose bumps flourish over her little arms.
I hold her like that, rocking and humming and running my hands over her head, until Ma finishes lining the yard. After a while, I lay the baby on her back in the warm dirt. She starts to panic at first, but I quickly slide my hands down her legs and put her bare feet up against my chest as I continue to hum. Hannah breaks into a smile that warms my blood, and I am suddenly overcome with the urge to sob.
For months I’ve had horrible thoughts about this baby, I’ve been sure that my life was horrible, I’ve been unable to imagine a future to be desired. But in Hannah’s brief smile, I now see endless possibilities, possibilities that are already ruined because of what I’ve gone and done, possibilities that don’t include raising a child completely alone.
I watch Hannah for the remainder of the afternoon. The rest of the family looks on in dumb confusion, but Ma seems lighter, happier, as though I have lifted an invisible weight from her shoulders. Already her posture has improved, and her face is much more relaxed.
Just before Ma and Emily are about to start on supper, Pa emerges from the cabin and announces that he has finished the floor.
“You’re sure it’s ready to live in?” I ask while Hannah tugs at my hair. Something inside of me feels hesitant to go inside.
“It’s ready,” Pa says. “I told my family I would provide them with a home, and I have done it. Everybody come see. We’ll eat supper and sleep inside tonight!”
We all head for the door with slow, hesitant steps, and I suddenly remember the crying infant and the tiny hand wrapped around my wrist in the night. Why am I filled with such dread at the idea of sleeping inside? Camping has been horrible, but it’s been so long since we left the mountain that I’m almost used to it by now. With a final sigh that causes Hannah’s smile to fade, I walk inside.
Pa has lit five oil lamps, one for each corner of the large room with another hanging from a thick wire hook that protrudes from the roof. All of the bl
oodied bark has been scraped off with Pa’s draw knife, and fresh clay has been slathered in between the logs. The new floor looks wonderful, and as impossible as I would have thought this to be when we first arrived, it smells wonderful, too—woodsy and fresh, clean, like a true new start.
“Oh, Edmund.” Ma gasps softly and rests her hand on her chest. “It’s beautiful, absolutely beautiful. There is so much space!”
This is the warmest I’ve seen her act toward Pa since before we left the mountain. He seems to notice it, too, and kisses the top of her head, a proud grin awakening on his face. Ma’s happy mood continues while we empty the wagon and arrange our things in the cabin, and she gives Hannah big kisses on the nose after every time another section is organized and complete.
The new cabin is able to fit all of the tools from our old woodshed—the draw knife, the grinding stone for sharpening blades, the augurs used to drill holes in wood. Besides the scattered array from the shed, this home also allows us to store all of our cooking pots and utensils inside, instead of keeping them tucked in a cluster right outside the front door.
The size of the fireplace matches the space around it. Even with the iron frame used to hold pots over the flame placed inside, there is enough room for Charles to walk around in it if he crouches. He and Joanna dart in and out of its mouth, making faces at each other around the sides of the empty stew pot in the center.
The rocking chair looks lonely in the middle of the huge room. Both mattresses are arranged in their own corners, each with more than enough space to easily store our individual piles of clothing against the wall while still leaving plenty of walking room. Pa promises that it won’t feel so empty once he’s built a shelf, a headboard, and a table with some chairs.
“It’s ready for the final touch!” Ma claps excitedly once everything is in place. She pulls a large brown furry thing from the corner with the woodshed tools, tied tight into a wide roll with cloth strips, and Pa grins from ear to ear at the sight of it.
