by Jane Peart
“Why ever not?” Johanna was curious.
Eliza shook her head. “Oh, there’s lots of old stories about it—things like iffen a child sleeps under it, it’ll grow up discontent or with a roaming mind. You hear lots of things like that. Not that I pay a lot of mind to them. But there’s lots of other pretty patterns to pick from.”
“My mother quilts and so do all my aunties.”
Eliza looked somewhat taken aback. “Then mebbe when they know about the baby, they’ll all be sending you one they’ll make up special. You won’t need this ‘un.” She started folding the quilt up, as though to put it back in the cedar box.
“Oh, please no, Ma. I want this one,” Johanna protested, then added shyly, “I think for our baby’s first quilt—it should come from his daddy’s ma.”
For a minute Eliza almost seemed startled. Her eyes glistened and she turned her head quickly. “Well now, iffen that’s what you want—”
“Yes, it is,” Johanna assured her, then hesitantly asked, “Ma, would you teach me how to quilt?”
“You really don’t know how?”
“Not really. I was never much interested, I’m afraid. I’ve made a few patches but never put together a whole quilt.”
“Well, now.” Eliza sat back on her heels, her expression thoughtful. “I’ve got a pattern—,” she said slowly. “Made up a few patches but haven’t got ‘round to finishing it. Mebbe you could start on it. It’s simple enough for a beginner.” She leaned over the cedar chest again and brought up a brown paper package and slowly unwrapped it. Inside were layers of folded cloth, some cutout patterns, and other pieces of material. On top were two or three finished blocks on cream-colored cotton, each banded with deep pink. In the center of each block was appliquéd three stylized, pink-petaled flowers accented with green stems and leaves.
Johanna smoothed her hand over the delicately sewn pieces. She imagined Eliza bent over her quilting frame, taking the tiny stitches painstakingly by firelight after all her chores were done. It was a thing of simple beauty, crafted out of the creativity within her that needed expression.
“Oh Ma, it’s truly beautiful,” Johanna said softly. “What do you call this pattern?”
“Hit don’t have any right name. I jest always admired the mountain lilies that bloom along in July. I didn’t have a pattern—I just drew it off on paper from looking at it, then used that to cut out my material.”
“Mountain lilies, of course,” Johanna smiled. “Carolina Mountain Lily. That’s what we’ll call it.”
She slipped her hand over Eliza’s worn, rough one, awed that it could make something so exquisite as well as chop wood, churn butter, hoe corn.
On her way back up the mountain, the package containing the quilt pattern and materials strapped behind her saddle, Johanna felt excited, as if she were launching into a whole new phase of her life. It was funny, actually. Back at Holly Grove she’d had to practically be dragged to the quilting frame, constantly be made to pull out her indifferent stitches and do her part over. Now she was looking forward to learning how to make a quilt of her own. For the first time, Johanna felt a real bonding to Ross’s mother and to the mountain community that was now her home.
The news spread fast among the extended Davison family up and down the mountain. Aunt Bertie and Uncle Tanner were the first to come visit and congratulate them, bringing a cradle made by Tanner’s own skilled hands. As Ross and Johanna stood around it admiringly, Bertie told them, “Tanner’s cradles are the best. Made out of buckeye log. He worked on it like he was makin’ something fit for a king. He likes buckeye ‘cause it’s light and hollows out so easy and it’s a pretty wood. He pegged it with oak pins to two hickory rockers, curved just so. His rockers never creep. It’s somethin’ I never saw in no other cradle.” She gave the cradle a gentle press of her foot. “See there, it jest rocks so nice and easy. I always called Tanner’s cradles a lullaby of buckeye.”
Trying to look indifferent, Uncle Tanner beamed at his wife’s praise.
Later the men went up to check the few apple trees on the hillside, and Johanna brought sassafras tea for Auntie Bertie and herself to drink out on the sunny front porch.
“When your time comes, honey, Tassie Rector’s the one,” Aunt Bertie said. “She’s been bringin’ babies for nigh on forty years, I reckon. Never lost a baby nor a mother in all that time. Iffen I wuz you, I’d go make her acquaintance, let her know you’ll be needin’ her,” Aunt Bertie advised.
“But Ross is a doctor, Aunt Bertie. He knows all about babies. He’s already delivered dozens since we came back up here,” Johanna said.
“Doctor or not, he’s a man, ain’t he? I think you’d be glad if you go see Tassie and talk to her. A woman needs another woman at a time like that.”
“I’m sure Ross’s mother, Eliza, will come,” Johanna said tentatively, wondering if maybe there was more to having a baby than she realized. She had a sudden longing for her own mother or Aunt Honey.
“You jest take my advice, Johanna, and go see Tassie,” was Aunt Bertie’s last word to her before she and Uncle Tanner took off.
One Sunday after service, outside church Ross got into a conversation with Merriman, and Johanna was left standing with Jenny. She had always felt a little awkward with her sister-in-law. Jenny was one of the few people her own age—at least, one of the few girls—whom Johanna had not been able to win as a friend. She didn’t know what made her feel so awkward around Jenny. She never seemed to be able to bring up a subject Jenny would respond to. Although Johanna told herself the girl was probably just shy, she had begun to feel that somehow Jenny disliked or resented her. This made it almost impossible whenever they were in each other’s company. Most of the time, that was when they were all together at Eliza’s. Then there was always so much to do, helping set food on the table or doing the clearing away or washing up. But sometimes, like now, Johanna found herself with a blank mind and a silent tongue.
Jenny seemed just as ill at ease as Johanna. Shaded by the broad-brimmed sunbonnet, her eyes were cast down, and her thin mouth worked nervously. At home, her father used to tease Johanna that she “couldn’t stand a moment’s silence,” and this proved true at this awkward instant. Johanna surprised herself by impulsively bursting out, “Jenny, I’m really pretty scared about having this baby. You’ve had two—I wish you’d come up to visit me one day and talk to me about it. It would really help to talk to someone else—I mean, someone my own age.”
Jenny’s face flushed and she looked startled. She opened her mouth and started to say something, then swallowed and seemed too taken aback to go on.
“Please, Jenny, I mean it. I’d really like you to come.
Will you?”
“Yes, yes. Shure I will,” Jenny finally murmured.
Just then the two brothers sauntered up to where their wives were standing. Ross smiled at them both. “What’re you two ladies gossiping about?” he asked teasingly.
“Babies!” Johanna laughed and glanced over at Jenny merrily. To her surprise, Jenny had blushed beet red. Belatedly Johanna realized that maybe mountain women didn’t talk openly about such things, even in front of their husbands, even when one of them was a doctor. She was sorry if she embarrassed Jenny, and she leaned toward her and gave her a reassuring touch on her arm, saying, “Now don’t forget, Jenny—I’m looking forward to your visit.”
Two days later Jenny did come, still shy, still pretty untalkative. She did, however, bring a gift of a beautiful little knitted baby shawl. She also endorsed Aunt Bertie’s recommendation that Johanna go see Tassie.
“She helped brung both my boys,” Jenny told her. “None better in all the mountainside.”
Some weeks later Johanna decided to follow both Jenny’s and Aunt Bertie’s suggestion. On a beautiful early fall morning, she saddled her horse and went down the mountain. The air was clear, with a definite sharpness to it. There was the smell of ripening apples, burning leaves, and she noticed the sharp-tanged fragra
nce of chokeberries.
“Tassie’s home is easy to find,” Aunt Bertie had told her. “If you get lost, ask anyone you see. Everyone knows her, will tell you how to get there.” She was right, and soon Johanna came in sight of a weathered frame house on the side of the hill. As she got off her horse, leading him by his reins up the rest of the steep path, Johanna saw a woman sitting on the porch on a rush-seat rocking chair.
“Howdy,” the woman called.
Johanna gave an answering wave. “I’m Johanna Davison,” she said as she walked up to the porch. When she came closer, she saw the woman’s strong, sensitive face, wreathed in wrinkles and a welcoming smile, and her deep-set, kind eyes.
“Well, I’m right happy to meet you. Doc’s wife, ain’t ye? Come and sit a spell.”
For the next hour or so, Johanna felt as though she had been warmly hugged and comforted by this dear lady.
At once offered refreshment and the other rocker, Johanna was soon hearing the story of Tassie’s life. “Was born right here, only a stone’s throw from where we’re sittin’. Married at twenty and had ten young’uns, all healthy, alive to this day. Now have thirty grandchildren and eight great-grands and brought ‘em all into the world.” She rocked and smiled with satisfaction. “I began midwifin’ while my own was still little. It jest seem to be my callin’ in life.” She nodded. “We all come into this world with a mission. The Lord saw fit to give me this one, and so he was present with me all the time, at every birthin’. God give me the talent to bring babies safely, and that’s what I’ve tried to do. I take no credit myself, you understand? I’ve had no real trainin’ but what God give me. I jest always put my trust in him, and as Scripture says, “My grace is sufficient.”
When the sun was getting low, Johanna stood up, ready to leave. Tassie said, “I know your man is a doctor, and from what I heard, a fine one. But if you want me, jest send word and I’ll be on my way.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Johanna said as she tied her sunbonnet strings. She didn’t think she’d really need Tassie, not with Ross there, but she didn’t want to hurt the old lady’s feelings.
On her way back up the mountain, Johanna wished she’d paid more attention when she still lived in Hillsboro, wished she’d listened when the aunties were discussing some friend’s confinement or a birth in their circle of acquaintances. Then marriage and motherhood had seemed something in the distant future. Now that it was soon to be her own experience, she realized she knew next to nothing about it. Of course, Ross would be with her and certainly knew what to do when the time came. He was well trained and capable. And Eliza would also be on hand. She wouldn’t have to rely on a backwoods midwife, thank goodness.
Eliza helped Johanna begin her quilt. Uncle Tanner willingly made her a frame to set up. Once she got started, Johanna discovered she actually enjoyed doing it. She liked arranging the pieces of bright calico material and pinning them into the design more than the actual stitching. However, gradually and with Eliza’s patient instruction, her stitches got smaller, neater, and after Ross moved the frame up to their own cabin, she found she could work while daydreaming about how life would be once their baby arrived. Being pregnant made her less active, and often Johanna found herself getting sleepy after only a half hour or more at her quilting frame, so it went slowly. She would often have to lie down and take a nap on the long afternoons as fall turned into winter and the wind blew around the cabin corners, sending the cedar boughs sighing against the windows, making the sound almost of a lullaby.
Chapter Eighteen
Johanna felt her shoulder shaken gently and heard Ross whisper, “I’ve got a nice fire going, honey, but you stay in bed until the house gets good and warm. I’ve got a few visits to make, but I should be home early afternoon.”
Johanna murmured something drowsily, felt Ross kiss her cheek, his hand smooth her hair, then she snuggled deeper into the quilts and went back to sleep.
She wasn’t sure how much later she woke up. A fire was burning brightly but low in the big stone fireplace. Slowly she roused herself, pulled on her voluminous flowered flannel robe, got awkwardly out of the high bed. Six more weeks and she wouldn’t be able to sleep in late like this, she thought with a smile. Neither would she have all this extra weight to carry around with her. She slipped her feet into slippers and went to the window. Outside the sky was a chalky gray. Snow? The edges around the glass pane were frosted slightly.
The kettle Ross had left hanging on the crane over the fire was sizzling. Johanna put a few spoonfuls of herb tea into a mug, poured in water, and stirred it into a fragrant brew. As she leaned over to replace the kettle, she felt a strange sensation in her back. Straightening up, one hand went to the curve of her spine. Had she imagined it? Probably pulled a muscle slightly when she reached for the kettle, she thought. Her body wasn’t familiar to her anymore. She had all sorts of queer aches and pains now, in places she could never have imagined before. Sitting down at the table, she cupped her hands around the steaming mug, inhaling the spicy aroma of the tea. The room was pleasantly warm, the tea delicious. Johanna glanced around, thinking how happy and content she had felt in recent weeks.
Everything about the little cabin pleased her—the polished gourds on the mantel, the blue and white dishes on the pine hutch, the rocking chair, which she had enjoyed more and more these last months. Then her gaze rested on the cradle and the quilt folded over its side. Soon their precious baby would be nested within that. Their child, hers and Ross’s. She didn’t care whether it was a boy or girl, either way she would love it.
She looked out the window again. To her surprise, she saw a few snowflakes floating lazily down. If it snowed, it would be the first of the season. Autumn—or Indian summer, as they called it here—had lingered longer than usual in the mountains this year. It wasn’t until way into November that the mornings had become really frosty and the evenings chilly.
Johanna got up from the table to go over to the window, when a quick, darting pain traveled down the back of both her legs. She gasped, clutched onto the edge of the table. What in the world? Had she slept in a cramped position so that her muscles were stiff? A fleeting worry passed through her mind. It couldn’t be anything to do with the baby. Or could it? She took a deep breath. She put her weight back on her feet and straightened up. Nothing happened. It was all right. Just a twinge of some kind. Nothing more.
She walked over to the window, leaned on the sill, and watched the snow fall slowy, as if it were not in any hurry. Still, it was sticking, she saw, watching the steadily falling snow cover the ground with a light powder.
It looked beautiful. The sweeping branches of the pines and hemlocks that rimmed their property were dark green under the fluffy fringe of white, the rail fence like dark rickrack against the drifting snow.
Johanna moved back over to the stove, where the oatmeal she had set on the back burner the night before was now thickened, ready to eat. She started to dish herself out a bowl, when she again felt another strange little clutch in the middle of her back. This one lasted longer than the first one. She frowned. She waited a full minute. Nothing happened. She filled her bowl, poured milk and honey over her oatmeal, and went to sit by the fire and eat.
She hoped Ross would get home before the snow got any deeper. It was hard enough traveling the narrow ridges on the mountain to out-of-the-way cabins in good weather.
Finishing her breakfast, Johanna decided to work some on the quilt she was making for the baby. Then she wouldn’t worry about Ross. Eliza had been right—making the quilt was a pleasant, “mind easin’” experience. Johanna enjoyed it more than she ever imagined. Wouldn’t her mother and aunties be amazed? It used to seem a pointless occupation back when she would rather have been doing something else. Now, anticipating a baby, Johanna found it enjoyable. Working on the quilt, she dreamed of all sorts of happy things. With the baby, she felt that the life she and Ross shared would become even happier, more complete.
Johanna shifted
her position. She seemed to become uncomfortable sooner than usual as she sat in the straight-backed chair at the quilting frame. She started to get up to get a pillow to wedge behind her back, when a sudden pain struck her. It was longer and stronger than either of the others. This time it traveled swiftly from the middle of her back down the length of her legs, causing her knees to cramp. She sat down quickly, holding on to the chair arms.
For a long while she remained absolutely still. What was going on? It couldn’t be the baby. Could it? The last time Tassie stopped by, she had looked Johanna over with a practiced eye, declaring she had a good six weeks yet to go. Over a month.
Alarm coursed through Johanna. Was something wrong, then? Oh, if only Ross were there. She waited tensely but nothing else happened. Reassured, she got up and walked over to the window again. It was now near noon. The snow was coming down with a driving force. The ground was covered and the wind was blowing the snow in drifts along the fence and against the windowsills. Johanna put her hand on the pane and felt the cold.
Where was Ross? He’d better get home before it snowed any harder. She watched with increasing anxiety as the snow continued falling steadily.
Restless and unable to go back to her quilting, she felt suddenly chilly. She went over to the wood box, got a few smaller logs out, and threw them on the fire, sending up a spiral of sparks. She got down her shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders. Drawing the rocker closer, she sat down near the fireplace.
Suddenly a grinding sort of pain gripped her. She gave a startled cry. Was that the kind of pain that signaled the start of labor? Oh, no! Surely it was too soon. It couldn’t be happening. Not now! When she was there alone! It couldn’t be starting, could it? Please, God, no. A deep shudder went all through Johanna. She knew that once it started, there was no stopping it. What was it Tassie had said? “When a baby’s ready to come, it comes!” Could this be how it begins? Slowly, so that you’re not sure, then more often, harder, with sensations unlike anything else you’ve ever felt?
