“Oh Lord God,” moaned Geneva as they shoved their burden toward safety, now several yards downstream from where they had begun. “I can’t take any more of this.”
“Yes yew kin. Git up there and pull. We hafta haul him up on high ground and see if he’s still alive.”
Geneva forced herself out of the water and up the bank, holding Jimmy Lee’s arm so the current could not pull him away from Howard. Together, she and the dark man dragged the unconscious form up the river bank to a safe place, then Howard dropped to his knees and put his head to his cousin’s chest. Rolling him over, he began working furiously to pump water from the drowning man’s lungs. Rachel screamed from the truck. Geneva felt like wailing herself, but suddenly, Jimmy Lee began coughing and struggling, and Howard stood up abruptly. “He’s awright. Stay here. I’ll be back direckly. I got kin lives just up this holler.”
He ran, disappearing into the dark, swallowed by the huge, roaring, black forest around her.
Geneva had never felt so alone in her life. She looked in the direction he had run for several seconds, lost in helpless despair and panic. But just when she thought she might run after Howard, now her only hope, her only link to safety, Rachel’s screams snapped her back into focus. She scurried down the bank to peer into the window at her sister.
“What’s happening? Where’s Wayne?” cried Rachel, bathed in sweat. “Oh, I can’t stand this!”
Geneva gritted her teeth and said resolutely, “Listen, honey. You gotta get in control. We’ve had a wreck, and Jimmy Lee’s been hurt, and Howard’s gone for help. Now breathe. No, don’t thrash around. Breathe. Concentrate. Look at my face. That’s it, breathe. That’s good.” She reached into the truck and pulled Rachel toward her, stretching her out on the seat so that she reclined at a fifty degree angle, practically standing upon the door of the truck. Rachel grew quieter.
“That’s good. You’re doing great. Try to take the next one on your own. I gotta go see if Jimmy Lee’s all right.”
Geneva ran back to the injured man. He was still lying beside the surging creek, but his eyes were open and he looked at Geneva dazedly.
“Am I daid?” he asked simply.
“No. I think you’re fine. Can you sit up?”
“No.” He said it without emotion. Then he closed his eyes again. Geneva ran her fingers over his head. Behind his left ear was a gash, and her fingers came away from his head feeling sticky and warm. She wished she could faint, or better, wake up and find herself in the downy four poster back at Rachel’s house. Where was this Howard?
She ran a short distance up the slope in the direction he had taken, but something told her she was behaving irrationally, so she turned back to the truck, hoping with all her considerable will that Rachel’s labor would slow down. Back in the truck, Rachel was deep in concentration, allowing her brain and body to work together through the intense contraction which had taken hold of her. She was breathing deeply and deliberately, her eyes focused on the rabbit’s foot hanging from the rear view mirror.
“Oh, good girl!” Geneva said, almost sobbing. She had never seen anyone in labor before, but she knew Rachel had regained some control over her pain. She stroked her sister’s head until Rachel growled though gritted teeth,
“Don’t touch me. I’m going to do this all by myself, and then I’m going to kill Wayne, and you, too.”
Bewildered, Geneva made her way back to Jimmy Lee, who was breathing steadily, his eyes still closed. “Jimmy Lee. I don’t know you, but I sure hope you don’t die on me. Oh, God, please don’t let him die!” she sobbed. “Howard! Howard, where are you?” She suddenly remembered that she had been calling the name of her former lover without even recalling his face, and she laughed hysterically at how she had repeated that very name in grief and heartache only the day before. Oh, God, she began again. Please let me grow up before I make any more wedding plans. Then she put her head to Jimmy Lee’s chest and listened to the faint, but regular, heartbeat.
It came to her that she was cold, very cold, so cold that she had been shivering ever since she had fallen into the water to rescue Jimmy Lee. And if she was cold, Jimmy Lee could be in real danger. She remembered something about keeping shock victims warm. Again, she ran back to the truck to look for blankets or something with which to cover him. Rachel was quiet, but she gave Geneva a murderous look as she passed by. Geneva knew there was nothing in the cab, but she thought there might be something in the back, so she hauled herself upon the tire to peer in. Nothing. Just some tools and a few greasy rags. Not enough to do any good at all. In despair, she looked around, racking her brain for some solution. How do you save a man from hypothermia? Then she noticed the shovel, a big, heavy garden shovel a few yards from the truck. It could do some serious digging in the right circumstances. She grabbed it, and returning to Jimmy Lee, began to dig a shallow trench the size of a man, working quickly in the soft humus. When she finished the trench, she rolled Jimmy Lee into it and covered all but his head with the dirt, still warm from the earlier sun.
This is all my fault, Geneva mumbled as she worked. Here I am, dragging my pregnant sister up to the top of a mountain where there are no phones, no ambulances, not even any bridges. And why? Because I’m stupid, self-centered, and full of crazy notions. I could have gone up by myself to see Mrs. Wheater. But no, I had to drag Rachel along just so I could yell at her for telling the truth about me. Her voice grew louder. Oh, God. I promise I won’t go hiding in any more bushes. Let Jimmy Lee live. Let Rachel and the babies be all right. Oh, God, I’m so sorry!
Jimmy Lee moaned, pulling her attention back to him and his wounds. The moon had set, and the dawn was still hours from offering its promise of light, but Geneva tried to peer at Jimmy Lee’s head as she probed gently with her fingers over his bloody scalp. She hoped the skull was intact. Perhaps the gash behind his ear was superficial and he was only unconscious, not in a coma or dying. Because she did not know what else to do, she gnawed at the hem of her skirt until she had started a tear, then ripped off the circumference and carefully wrapped it around Jimmy Lee’s head. Somewhat calmed by the sense that she had been productive, she slowly made her way back to Rachel to hold her hand and stroke her forehead until the laboring woman began another contraction and demanded to be left alone.
After what seemed like long hours of running back and forth between Rachel and Jimmy Lee, Geneva heard loud noises in the thicket. Enormous shapes loomed up from the shadows, causing Geneva a moment of terror before she realized that the shapes were only a team of Percherons. Howard Knight was holding the lead, and behind the horses trailed a buckboard wagon.
“Oh, Lord God, he’s dead awready,” moaned Howard the moment he saw the mound of dirt over Jimmy Lee’s body. “She’s done gone to burying him. Oh, Pappy, Mam-maw, I’m sorry!” Confused, Geneva peered into the darkness. After a moment, she saw an old man sitting in the buckboard, his head in his hands, his body shaking with grief. An equally old woman peered out from underneath a shapeless hat and wrung her hands.
It took another moment for Howard’s words to register, but the instant they did, Geneva jumped up, shrieking, “No!” Running to the buckboard in her sudden fear that Howard might complete the burial before she could stop him, and desperate to end the grieving of the old people who had come to her rescue, she hurriedly explained, “I just covered him up to keep him warm. He’s fine, really. Just cold.” She was having trouble keeping her own teeth from chattering.
The old man’s tears stopped abruptly, and he lifted his eyes to hers. “Ye say he ain’t daid, honey?”
“No sir,” returned Geneva. “I’m sorry I scared you. I didn’t know how else to keep him warm.”
“Praise Jesus!” shouted the old man. He leaped out of the buckboard and flung himself across the would-be grave, wailing a long, loud prayer of gratitude.
The old woman, tiny as a child, climbed down from the wagon and addressed Howard. “Chap, Look Jimmy Lee over and if ye think it’s awright to mov
e ‘im, git Pappy to hep ye lift him in the buckboard. Where’s that woman?” She straightened her back and looked around her.
“Mam-maw, Miss Rachel’s still in the truck, I reckon. This here’s Miss Geneva. Geneva, these here is my folks, my Grammaw and Pappaw. They’ve come to hep ye.”
The old woman glanced at Geneva and nodded, then hurried to the river bank, slipping toward the truck, surprising Geneva with her quickness. After a second’s hesitation in which she worried about the buried Jimmy Lee, Geneva hurried after her.
“How often are yer pains acomin’, child?” Howard’s grandmother asked Rachel.
“Often,” was all Rachel could say, between pants. I gotta puuush!” She ended the sentence with a deep groan. Geneva did not know anything about these matters, but it appeared to her that Rachel was already pushing.
“Not yit, honey. We’re gonna git yew outta this here truck and up on flat ground, then ye kin push away.” The old woman never took her eyes off Rachel, but called over her shoulder, “I need me somebody over here to hep me lift her. She ain’t walkin’ nowheres.” She addressed Rachel again, and her voice gentled, “Now don’t ye push yit, honey. Jist another minit. Kin ye hold back a minit?”
Rachel, her eyes bright and wide, nodded silently, and closed her eyes, breathing slowly, deliberately. Howard left Jimmy Lee and his grandfather, who was still shouting his praise to heaven, and ran crablike across the steep slope toward his grandmother. Geneva helped them ease Rachel downhill, out of the truck. Even as they worked, another contraction took hold of Rachel. She began a series of short, puffing breaths. He face paled; she willed her body to relax, despite the enormous desire to push that thundered over her, engulfing her.
“Tell that old fool to shut up and git somethin’ to lay her on,” ordered the grandmother. Howard glanced toward his grandfather, then back at the old woman, but he did not move. With a snort, Mam-maw marched up the bank toward the old man, took off her hat, and began thrashing him with it, shouting, “Yew idiot!” Cain’t yew see this ain’t no time to be aprayin’? Git up offa there and act like a growed man!” The old man merely prayed louder, burying his face in the soft dirt over Jimmy Lee’s chest, wailing in a strange, unintelligible voice. Mam-maw thrashed harder, but the old man would not stop his devotions. He lifted his hands up, shouting, “Thank ye, Lord, for deliverin’ my boy from the jaws of death. Thank ye Jesus! Save this boy! Take care of these little babies acomin’ into this world. Lay yer healin’ hand on this laborin’ woman and ease her pains! Touch Jimmy Lee, too, Lord. Open his eyes. Anoint his head with your healin’ touch, Oh, Lord God, oh, Jesus!” and again he broke into another language which Geneva could not decipher.
For a little while longer, the woman continued to thrash and utter her own commandments for the man to cease, but shortly, she seemed to lose interest, for the blows turned into little pats, then to a futile fanning over the old, white head. The action reminded Geneva so much of Jimmy Lee’s impotent attempts to stop Lamentations’ tail-chasing with a leafy switch that she wondered if it was a family trait to discipline people and pets by beating them with soft objects. As the blows lessened, Geneva turned, searching the darkness for the poor dog that had helped to save Jimmy Lee’s life.
Lamentations was nowhere to be seen, but Howard came into view, dragging a sheet of plywood from the wagon.
“I got, it Mam-maw. Ye kin quit ahittin’ on ‘im and come on back. I got it.”
Abruptly the old woman dropped her hat and scurried back down the embankment, muttering, while Howard laid the plywood beside the truck. Together, Geneva, the old woman, and Howard eased Rachel onto it. Geneva looked into her sister’s face, frightened and astonished by what she saw there. Rachel’s eyes were glazed, and she wore a fierce expression that did not fit her gentle face. Geneva turned in her fear.
The old woman suddenly lost her pique and turned her attention to Rachel. “Awright, now we’re gonna pull ye up this here bank. It’ll be rough, but jist hold on a little bitty minute. Git on that side, Chap. Little Miss, ye reckon ye kin push from the bottom?”
“Yes, of course,” said Geneva, slipping down the bank to within inches of the roiling water but glad to be able to offer something other than her panic.
They all pushed and strained, including Rachel, who by now had given up all pretense of slowing the birth of her babies and was laboring to push the life from her womb, rising to her calling as women have done since the beginning of human time. By the time they had reached the top of the bank, Rachel was oblivious to all that was around her—so concentrated she was on her laboring. Geneva stood aside.
“Lordamercy, she’s apushin’ fer real now. Yew there, git her drawers offen her,” the woman instructed Geneva. “Chap, git my bag and some quilts offen the buckboard. We gonna have us a coupla babies here in a minit.”
Geneva lifted Rachel’s dress and tried to slide her panties off, but Rachel’s legs were splayed wide, knees up. Seeing Geneva’s helplessness, the old woman shouldered her aside and cut them off with a pocket knife, then she circled around behind Rachel and gently but firmly pushed her forward until she was sitting nearly upright.
“Okay, honey. I’m gonna put this quilt under you sos yer little babies will have somethin’ soft to land on. Kin ye set up a little more? Put yer feet up under ye and kindly squat like, but not too much.” Rachel did not comply. Her eyes were closed, deep groans came from somewhere in her bowels, for she was pushing hard, hard. Geneva had never seen anything so intense.
Golly, no wonder they call it labor, she thought to herself.
Together she and the woman propped Rachel up and rolled the quilt underneath her. Rachel pushed again, the groans leaping from her lips like wild animals. Then the old man suddenly shouted, “Amen, Lord! Thanky Lord!” then he sprang up, busying himself with raking the dirt off Jimmy Lee.
“Chap!” he shouted, “Git over here and hep me git Jimmy Lee in the wagon. We ain’t got all night.”
Howard, no longer needed with the women, sprang to his side. Rachel pushed and groaned louder and louder so that Geneva felt inundated with the sound. She shook her head to try to focus on something other than Rachel’s apparent agony.
The old woman spoke calmly. “That’s real good, honey, yer doin’ jist fine. Here, hold this here light fer me, girlie.” She gave a short, delighted laugh. It sounded like a child’s laughter. “I see me a little head acomin’, and I need both hands to catch it.” Handing the flashlight to Geneva, she uncorked a jug of clear liquid which she poured over her hands. Recognizing the smell of corn liquor, Geneva hoped it really would serve as a proper antiseptic. But she did not worry about dirt for long. Her attention was pulled to the scene before her, her eyes soaking up the miracle. A tiny head was crowning. With the next push, Geneva could see the face of the child who would carry the genes, the life that had sustained her sister, herself, her parents, each of her ancestors who had worked the soil and worshiped and borne children and had looked at the startling sky and had been glad to be alive.
The child was suddenly out, wet, glistening, and screaming. Geneva stood rooted, speechlessly watching the babe and the old woman until she had wrapped her in a soft quilt and handed her to Geneva.
“Keep up with that light, girlie, we got us anothern’ acomin’ right now!” She bent again in time to catch another tiny head as it pushed its way into the cold, starry night.
Geneva held her baby niece and laughed and sobbed and looked into the little face, which suddenly calmed and peered back at her. Geneva sought the eyes, which seemed rooted in the depth of all life and wisdom, and she felt herself falling in love.
Half an hour later, Geneva sat wrapped in blankets in the back of the buckboard. She was still holding her niece, had, in fact, refused to give her up long enough for Rachel to hold her, but had simply held her next to Rachel’s head so the new mother could see her and touch her. Rachel lay next to Geneva, holding the second twin and occasionally reaching up to put a hand on her oth
er daughter. The old woman sat at Rachel’s right side, stroking the proud mother’s forehead and frequently lifting the corners of the quilts to peer in and grin a semi-toothless grin at the two newcomers into the world.
Jimmy Lee, still unconscious, lay at their feet, a silent reminder that all was not well. Howard led the team of mighty horses back up the hill; the old man sat on the forward seat and held the reins. They were bouncing slowly uphill under a high canopy of trees into the cold darkness of night, but Geneva felt light and warm. She had just experienced a miracle. She felt that her sister, so recently brushing shoulders with death, now laughing and singing, should be canonized.
“Oh, law,” said the old woman, “I ain’t had me a night like this since December the sixth, nineteen forty-one, the night of Pearl Harbor. Lordy, that’s more’n thirty-five years ago. I had to deliver a youngin in a blizzard and the baby was laid wrong so’s I had to turn him around, and I didn’t have no hep cause the daddy had done passed out the minit I got there.”
“Did everything turn out all right?” asked Rachel, sympathetic for the woman laboring under conditions worse than her own.
“No, the baby was real purty, but they wuz somethin’ wrong with him, and he didn’t grow up with good sense. I don’t know iffn it was because of being laid wrong or if they was somethin’ else wrong with him. But he was a purty one—real blue black hair and skin as white and pink as a dogwood blossom. And he was real sweet, too. He had him a passel of brothers, and all of them was smart as whipsnakes, but none was no sweeter. Birds would come and light on his shoulder, and he could walk right up to a beehive and the bees would crawl all over him and not sting him. I never seed nothin’ like it.”
“What happened to him?” asked Geneva.
“He liked to go off by hisself sometimes, and when he did that, he’d tarry for days, roamin’ the woods til he either come on back by hisself or somebody found him. He disappeared one day in the fall, and they didn’t find him atall, searched all fall and winter. But in the spring, they found some of his gear warshed up on a creek bank down below a high lookout. Most folks think he fell off the mountain and got et up.
The Women of Jacob’s Mountain Boxed Set Page 13
