“Coming!”
In the Bittmans’ small bedroom, I’m surprised to see the lights dimmed. There’s not much space to move around, but our patient is making the most of it. She stands in the candlelight in a blue checked nightdress in the center of a blue braided rug, swaying back and forth during a contraction and making little noises in a high-pitched voice, almost as though she’s singing. “Mmmm. Mmmm. Mmmm.” Bitsy wrinkles her brow at me, wondering where I’ve been, but even if there was time, I wouldn’t try to explain.
“Hi, Lilly, it’s Patience.” I touch the girl on her arm. “Are the pains coming regularly now?”
“Every five minutes, right on,” answers B.K., consulting his pocket watch.
“Well, if you’re ready, I can check you and your baby. Bitsy and I are here for the duration.”
I watch as Lilly easily feels her way back to the bed and, without hesitation, flops down and pulls up her shift. Her underpants are still dry.
“No leaking fluid yet?”
“I don’t think so.” Lilly’s palest blue eyes are open and she stares at the ceiling, seeing only blackness . . . or perhaps red or blue . . . maybe it’s like when you lie in the sun with your eyes closed and see colored lights.
I place my hands on her belly, feeling for the baby’s position abdominally. Then I have Bitsy check and listen to the fetal heartbeat.
“Around a hundred and thirty beats per minute, and the head’s down,” she reports with a grin.
I double-check and nod. One hundred thirty.
“Is she close?” B.K. asks, standing at the door with his back turned.
If the vet wants to know the status of a horse in labor, he just sticks his hand into the horse’s vagina, but the men who wrote the West Virginia Midwifery Code think we midwives wouldn’t have enough sense to limit our internal examinations or use sterile gloves, so I break the law only when I have to, and right now there’s no need.
“Best guess, the baby will come after midnight,” I hedge. (That could mean two A.M. or six.) “In an hour or so, we’ll have a better idea. If Lilly could rest, that would be good.”
“Horsefeathers! That’s not going to happen,” the redhead interrupts. “It hurts less when I’m sitting or walking. Are you done now, Miss Patience?” The “Miss Patience” gives me the shivers, but I let it slide. “Whoooo, here comes one now!” The woman jumps up and sways her whole body, her long red curls moving with her. “Mmmm. Mmmm. Mmmm.” B.K. steps back into the bedroom, wanting to help but unsure how.
“Hold her like this,” says Bitsy. She has him step forward and put his arms around his wife so she can lean into him.
“That was a doozy!” Lilly informs us.
“Good. The strong ones will bring the baby. I’m going to make sure all of our supplies are in order. Did you sterilize your sheets?”
“I went to Nurse Becky’s baby class before she left for Char-lottesville. Ma and I ironed everything and wrapped it in paper.”
“That’s great. I know she gives good instructions.” I slip out of the room. The apartment is small, and I can hear the patient’s birth song through the walls. My plan, since Bitsy has decided she’s a big midwife, is to let her take the lead and see how she does.
Bertha
When I return to the kitchen to make tea and check to be sure everything is ready, I’m disappointed to discover Mrs. Wade back at the table.
“Hello. I thought you were napping.” There’s no way I want this busybody around Lilly, making her nervous, distracting her from her job, even if she is the girl’s mother.
“I tried to, but I couldn’t. She’s our only child, you know. We adopted because we couldn’t have our own, and then when she went blind . . . I know I’m overprotective.”
“Lilly wasn’t born blind?”
“No. She lost her sight the year all the children got measles. A half dozen went blind in the county, and a few were struck deaf too. Thank the Lord, no one got both. She went to the School for the Blind in Charleston for a few years, but we missed her so, we brought her home. She can read Braille and do housework, even sew.”
“All the children?”
“Yes, it was that bad winter. Sickness swept through Delmont and Liberty, Torrington and Oneida. Lilly was four. Many didn’t survive.” I realize she’s talking about an epidemic of German measles, the three-day kind, a wicked strain that causes high fever.
There’s a groan and then B. K. Bittman’s voice singing, low. “Will the circle be unbroken . . .” Mrs. Wade sweeps me a big-eyed look, and I put my hand over hers. It’s an unexpected gesture. I was horrified to discover the intrusive woman here an hour ago, but now I find myself sympathetic. That’s the way it is, Nora once told me. No matter who they are or what they’ve done, when you hear someone’s story you see him or her differently.
“By and by, Lord, by and by,” B.K. goes on. He has a strong voice and accompanies himself on the guitar.
“There’s a better home awaiting.” Bitsy joins in and then Lilly.
Bertha smiles. “They’ve been married five years. We’d given up on grandchildren. I thought maybe Lilly would be barren like me, but God heard our prayers.”
Barren, I think . . . I assumed I was barren too, and look what happened!
For the next hour, as the contractions roll on, I double-check the contents of the birth bag that we so hastily packed while Mr. Maddock waited in his truck. With the excitement, I’d even forgotten to eat. I’ve had no food since breakfast and am feeling a little sick, so I ask Mrs. Wade for a cold glass of milk. I still have no clue what I am going to do about my nonbarren state. For a moment sadness overcomes me, but I shoo it away, as if it were a pesky housefly. No time for self-indulgence.
When I peek into the birth room the first time, Lilly is slow dancing with her husband, wiggling her hips erotically in a way I might find embarrassing if it weren’t part of the birth dance. The second time, she’s leaning over a chair while Bitsy rubs her back. Sweat now beads on her brow, a good sign. I catch Bitsy’s eye and lift up my thumb.
Bitsy gives me a thumbs-up too and says out loud, “She’s the cat’s meow!”
Lilly laughs.
“For sure!” B.K. adds.