I guessed that she was glad to get Sylvia out from under her feet. I didn’t want Sylvia going with me, but it would probably be good to get her away from Aunt Jenny — for Aunt Jenny’s sake.
I didn’t get a chance to study Sylvia’s figure until we stepped onto the front porch. Her belly showed a definite protrusion, and she was not wearing her usual tight-fitting clothes. She had on a belt but the material bloused over, obscuring most of her belly.
When I lifted my eyes, she stared at me, a smile playing on her lips. I strode over to the swing and took a seat, and she slid onto one of the rocking chairs, as graceful as ever.
Uncle Colt came out and nodded at us. “Going to check on a cow. Be back in a little bit.”
“Want me to come with you?” I asked.
“Appreciate the offer, Jay, but there’s not a problem. It’ll be a couple of more weeks before she’s due to calf.”
“Just holler if I can help.”
He continued down the steps. “Will do.”
I pushed the old grayed swing back and forth. If it hadn’t been for Sylvia’s presence, I might have enjoyed sitting there, listening to the night sounds and the gentle creaks of the swing. Out here, in the night air, I felt better than I had all day. Light from the lantern inside spilled from the windows, illuminating Sylvia’s face. I pulled my sweater a little tighter against the cool March breeze.
Sylvia quit rocking and leaned toward me, tilting her head. “I’ve got a big announcement to make.”
“Oh?” I kept my face smooth, my voice low.
“I’ve been waiting for the right moment, but it looks like you may have guessed.” She fluttered her lashes.
“Guessed what?”
Her lips curled into a secretive smile. She placed a hand on my arm, and I had to press my feet against the floor of the porch to bring the swing to an abrupt halt. Neither of us spoke for a moment as she peered into my eyes. I kept my face impassive, hoping she couldn’t read my expression in the dim light.
She released her hold and settled back in her chair, letting out a breathless sigh, as if satisfied with what she had seen. “I’m expecting.”
“Congratulations.” I tried to put genuine warmth in my voice, but the word sounded hollow to my ears. “When is the baby due?”
“I plan to make the big announcement tomorrow. The baby’s due in October. At least that’s what I’ll tell my in-laws.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sarah Jane, don’t act so dumb.”
I kept watching her, my face impassive.
Irritability raised the pitch of her voice. “I was pregnant before I married.” She curled her mouth into a look of derision.
Chapter 14—Sylvia
I blinked at her a moment. Why was she telling me? “But William is the father?”
She shook her head, and my heart raced. I didn’t need to hear this. I refused to hear Dan had fathered her child.
I scrambled to my feet. “I need to get going. I have a long day tomorrow.”
Sylvia sprang up and placed her hand on my arm. “Don’t go yet.”
I shook her hand off and headed to the old, rusted truck, with her on my heels.
I spoke over my shoulder, quickening my pace. “Tell Aunt Jenny and Uncle Colt I had to get home.”
We made it to the yard, and as I grabbed the truck’s handle, Sylvia’s hand closed over mine. I resisted the urge to push her away, knowing she’d be around, every time I visited, perhaps even visiting me, and I had to somehow keep things civil between us.
I gave her a sideways look and tried to smile. “Really, I’ve got to get going.”
Her hand tightened on mine. Although her face was obscured, out in the yard, with only the moon and stars for light, the flash of her teeth clearly revealed a smile. “I can’t believe you’re not curious about who the father is.”
“It’s late. And, Sylvia, it’s really none of my business.”
“Well, as a matter of fact it is your business.” She stepped back, and her shadowy stance indicated she waited for my response.
I let go of the handle and turned to fully face her. “What do you mean it’s my business?”
Her eyes held mine for a moment before she spoke. “The baby is Michael’s. I think that makes it your business.”
I could only blink at her form, hidden in the shadows. “Why are you telling me this?”
“I don’t think we should keep secrets, do you? And this means...”
I held up a hand, not knowing, not caring, if she could see it. “If you are telling the truth, this is between you and Michael. This happened before I married him. You need to talk to him.”
“Sarah Jane...” She took a step toward me.
I wrenched the door open. “I suggest you back off, or you might get your toes ran over.”
She did as she was told, and I slammed the door and drove away, down the dark road. It was only about half a mile between their farm and Poppa’s old farm, my farm now. I was there in minutes and hurried up the porch, not pausing to greet Coby, not pausing to light the lantern. Most of the furniture was in the barn, since I had not had a chance to clean it yet, and my footsteps echoed in the almost empty rooms. I headed straight to the room I had claimed as my own, Momma and Poppa’s old bedroom.
I had bought new bedroom furniture, in Art Deco style — Waterfall, the salesman had called it. The bed, dresser with stool, and chest of drawers filled up the small room.
I let my clothes fall to the floor, keeping on only my slip, and climbed into bed. I lay on my back and stared up. The dim light from the stars and moon came in through the uncurtained window. The March breeze swayed the limbs outside the house, making shadows chase across the ceiling.
Why had Sylvia told me Michael had fathered her baby? Did she want me to divorce him? But she was married to William... would she divorce him? What a scandal that would be! With William and Michael gone, for no telling how long, how would it benefit her if I did divorce Michael?
I sighed. Sylvia was a liar. I wasn’t going to believe a word she said — but even as I mumbled the words aloud, doubt crept into my heart, had been there from the beginning, if truth be told. When Michael had told me Sylvia was a share crop, I had feared Michael was one of the farmers. He had not told me he wasn’t, had he? He had told me Dan and Sylvia were together. Had I ever believed him? As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t, wouldn’t, believe it was Dan! Maybe some other man, but not Dan.
Maybe I should write Michael and tell him what Sylvia had told me... but I couldn’t do that to him! He was on maneuvers now at Camp Lejeune, North Carolina. When his intensive officer training was over, he had planned to come home on furlough. After that, he’d probably be shipped off to war. Before I had known I was pregnant, before Sylvia, we had been so happy...
Tears leaked from my eyes. I would not cry again over Michael Hutchinson... I tried vainly to stem the tears, but they continued to drip down into my ears. I swung my legs off the bed and got up, going outside to splash water on my face.
It had been a day — arguing with Laurie, applying for a job, being confronted with having to care for Momma, and then this...
I slumped down to the floor of the back porch and looked into the night sky, filled with stars reflecting the wonder of God. Poppa had said life wasn’t easy. He was right. Just focus on God, he had said, always seek God. Where was God now? I felt so alone, here on the farm, with everything changed. Poppa was long gone, Zeke didn’t want to live with me, Aunt Jenny and Uncle Colt had Sylvia to deal with, and Michael — in a few months he would be going away for no telling how long. The light of the stars blinked at me, uncaring, cold, and distant.
Did I want to live here alone? Maybe it would be the right thing to do, to ask Momma to move back with Zeke. At least Zeke would be good company.
Tomorrow, on my lunch break, I’d talk to Zeke... no, he would be at school. I’d have to wait until I got off work... and I really had no idea what time that would be. Ve
terinarians had no set hours — they worked until they got the job done.
And then I thought of Marla. I’d been so busy since I came home, and she had, too, that we hadn’t had much time to visit. I would have to remedy that, as soon as possible. Maybe I could talk to her about Sylvia. Of course I wouldn’t breathe a word about Dan — I only had Michael’s word that Dan was even involved with Sylvia. No, Dan stayed out of it. Marla was so sensible, though, surely she could help me sort it all out.
It was such a tangled mess! I put my head on my knees, shivering in the night air, and began to pray.
How long I was out on the porch, I didn’t know, but long enough that I my muscles protested when I struggled to my feet. When I made it back inside, I luxuriated in the warmth of the quilts. As I lay there, rolling my head back and forth, trying to shake away the bad, it hit me. I did not hear corn shucks rustling in my ears. Yes, I faced many problems. Nevertheless God had been good to me — a shelter over my head, a nice bed to lie in, one stuffed with feathers instead of the corn shucks I had slept on growing up. And now a job to go to in the morning. How thankful I should be!
I rolled over and fell into a deep sleep, peace in my heart.
Chapter 15—The Hutchinsons
I woke early, before daylight, and ate a few saltine crackers for breakfast. I didn’t bother with coffee, for even the thought made me queasy. Dr. Driscoll expected me to do heavy work, and I couldn’t go on eating so little. I had hoped to work in the office, tending small animals. But when he had mentioned my clothes, it seemed he had other plans in mind. I attempted to get down a little buttermilk, but I only got down a couple of sips before I poured the rest out, and instead, drank a glass of water. Even the water was difficult to keep down, and I gagged several times.
Once in the truck, I rolled down the window and let the cool air blow in my face. I arrived at the office a good twenty minutes early. Velma greeted me and pointed me to the other door, the one I had not gone in yesterday.
This room was Dr. Driscoll’s personal office. He didn’t look up when I entered, did not acknowledge my presence. When I asked if I could sit down, he simply grunted. I took it as a yes and moved a pile of catalogs off the cowhide seat of the chair before sitting in the straight-back chair.
Dr. Driscoll’s massive oak desk, a roll-top, was made with many cubby holes, nooks and crannies, although they were barely distinguishable. There were so many papers, equipment, and just plain trash crammed into every crevice that the roll-top feature was moot. I waited for him to finish whatever he was doing.
He took his time, thumbing through a sheaf of papers. If he would allow me, I’d clean up some of the mess.
He finally acknowledged me with a look. Before he spoke, he lit a cigar, took a few puffs, and perched it precariously in an ashtray. “Well, Missy, today we’re starting out at the Hutchinson’s farm. They’ve got a cow in distress.”
“Hutchinson?”
He eyed me, his eyebrows drawn together. “They your in-laws?”
“Do you mean Mr. Paul and Mr. Aaron?”
“Yep, that’s them. Time to go.” He was up and moving out the door before I had time to process what he was doing.
“C’mon, Missy,” he said over his shoulder.
I didn’t know if he had forgotten my name or if he had deliberately chosen a childish nickname for me. I scurried after him.
It was a good thing it was March and warm enough, even at this hour, to roll down the window in his work truck. He had finished his first cigar and started on a second. His window was let down a crack, so most of the smoke dissipated out, thankfully. I kept my nose close to my window, again letting the cool wind clear away some of the nausea.
When we pulled into the yard, Michael’s father stepped out of the house and walked toward the truck.
Mr. Paul’s eyes, so much like Michael’s, lit up when I jumped down. “Jay! What are you doing here?”
I gave him a hug before I answered. “I moved down a couple of weeks ago and been having a time whacking away weeds. I just got a job with Dr. Driscoll. Sorry I haven’t been by before now.”
He waved a hand. “You’ve been busy, I see. No need to apologize.”
Mr. Aaron came out, moving a little slower. Michael had never talked much about his uncle, a confirmed bachelor, now close to forty. He looked much younger than his brother, his hair still a dark brown, unlike his brother’s that was gray at the temples. Both Mr. Paul and Mr. Aaron looked like older versions of Michael, slim and tall, but muscular.
Laugh lines around his eyes were Mr. Aaron’s only indication of age, but Mr. Paul’s face held sunspots and wrinkles, whether from more hardships and sorrows in life or simply because he was older, I didn’t know.
Mr. Aaron gave me a hug before Dr. Driscoll tapped on his watch.
“We’ve got more farms to visit today. Tuesdays are busy. We’ve got to get going.” He grabbed his large bag from the back of the truck. “Missy, get that bucket.”
Mr. Paul strode toward the barn. “We’ve got a cow down. Her water bag broke., but she’s been straining for thirty minutes or an hour, but no sign of the calf.”
We walked into the dimness of the barn, and Mr. Aaron winked at me and whispered. “Missy?”
I mouthed, “Don’t ask.”
The cow lay on her side, her ribs heaving. Mr. Aaron lit a lantern and hung it in the stall so we could make a better assessment. The cow, on a bed of fresh hay, lifted her head and gave us a mournful look. Still, being able to lift her head was a good sign.
Dr. Driscoll became all business, pointing to me as he started to examine the cow. “Fill up the bucket with fresh water and soap up your arms.”
I did as he said and he gave a nod of approval at my quickness. “Your hand is smaller. I want you to do the exam.”
I simply nodded and followed his instructions, inserting my hand, and then my arm into the cow’s rectum. I felt around and discovered the calf was not breech — just a large calf. As I probed, Dr. Driscoll got chains ready to tie around the legs, above the fetlocks. The cow’s contractions squeezed my arm uncomfortably.
When the legs appeared, I pulled my arm from the rectum, braced my feet against a post, and attempted to grasp the legs. They were slippery, and it took several tries before I could get a firm grasp. My back ached as I wrapped the chains around the calf’s forelegs. Finally, Dr. Driscoll leant a hand to help me pull the large bull calf the rest of the way, working with the contractions of its mother.
While Dr. Driscoll rubbed down the calf, I dropped onto the hay, as exhausted as the poor cow. The barn swirled around me. After a couple of minutes, I became aware Mr. Paul watched me with concern. Without me asking, he came over and helped me to my feet. Once I appeared steady, he released me. My legs were like jelly, but I made it to the pump and washed my aching arm.
When I was relatively clean, I joined the brothers at the gate, and we leaned against it, me using it as a means of support, my muscles still quivering. The cow had not yet tried to rise.
Dr. Driscoll was talking to the brothers while scrubbing away the afterbirth. “It may take your cow a while to get up.”
But even as he spoke, the cow rose to her knees, sniffed her calf, and then gave it a lick. She struggled the rest of the way to her feet, and Dr. Driscoll allowed a smile to surface before he took the calf to her teats. The calf immediately began nursing. My heart constricted at the sight, and I smiled, even as bile traveled up my throat.
I didn’t have time to speak, to offer even a flimsy excuse, as I stumbled out of the barn, into dazzling daylight, and made for a grassy patch of ground. Falling to my knees, I vomited.
The men had followed me out. Dr. Driscoll snorted behind me. “Knew she looked puny.”
Mr. Paul was kneeling at my side, one hand on my back. “Are you okay, Jay?”
I nodded, pulled a handkerchief from my pocket, and wiped my mouth. Mr. Paul once again helped me to my feet. A car horn blew, and we all looked in the direct
ion it came from.
Through the haze of the nausea, I watched in amazement as Sylvia slid out of her car. Of all people! Sylvia.
Mr. Aaron raised an eyebrow and leaned toward me. “Who’s that?” he whispered.
“Sylvia. She married William. You met her at my wedding.”
His eyes brightened. “Oh, I remember. How could I have forgotten?”
The men moved forward to greet her. Dizziness washed over me, and I moved closer to the fence, grasping a post to keep from falling.
Sylvia was smiling at the men, tilting her head at each, and greeting them like old friends.
“I thought I saw Sarah Jane when I was driving by. I desperately need to speak to her.”
Mr. Aaron took her elbow and guided her to where I stood, the other men following.
“Sarah Jane! There you are.” Her teeth flashed white in the morning sunlight. “I’m sorry if I’m interrupting...”
Dr. Driscoll had his chest puffed out. “Not at all, dear. We were just finishing up here.”
Sylvia’s smile faded as she studied me. She turned toward the men. “She looks pale. Is she all right?”
Mr. Paul moved closer. “Jay, do you need to sit down?”
I couldn’t answer as more voices of concern joined in. All slowly faded away as my legs gave way and blackness descended.
Chapter 16—Mr. Aaron
I opened my eyes but quickly shut them against the bright light streaming through the window. Someone wiped my face with a washrag. When I ventured to open my eyes again, this time only a slit, Sylvia came into sight, her face full of concern. I quickly closed them again.
“Sarah Jane! You’re awake. Mr. Hutchinson has gone for the doctor.”
I opened my eyes again, making an effort to sit up but was too weak to do so. I let my head fall back on the pillow. I was in a bedroom, whose I didn’t know. I steeled myself and turned my head to look at Sylvia. “Do you mind closing the curtains?”
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