Passing through Perfect (Wyattsville #3)(15)
“Good Lord, child, you is in a bad way.” Wanda turned to Otis and gave him an angry glare. “Why didn’t you jest say it was a real bad birthing?”
“How you figure I’m gonna know good from bad?” Otis said. “To me they all looks bad.”
Wanda began calling out orders for boiling water, clean rags, and fresh towels. She lifted Delia’s gown and felt her stomach the way you’d feel a watermelon to judge if it’s ripe and ready for eating.
“You got more ’n one baby in there,” she said, “and that first one’s stuck sideways.”
Wanda began kneading Delia’s stomach like a roll of dough, and after a long while the baby moved in the direction she was pushing. When that happened Wanda stuck the better part of her hand inside Delia and eased the head into position. Less than five minutes later a squalling boy came into the world.
“Well, ain’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Wanda said and handed the baby to Benjamin. “Wash him off, but be real gentle.”
Wanda turned back to Delia, who was nearly passed out from the pain. “Now let’s get that other baby out.”
The second baby proved far more challenging and for almost two hours Wanda massaged Delia’s stomach, applying hot towels and rolling her from side to side.
“This one’s a stubborn little thing,” she said and continued working. She moved Delia into a sitting position and propped a pile of pillows behind her back. When there was no movement, Wanda finally pressed her ear to Delia’s stomach and listened. She could no longer hear the baby’s heartbeat. She poured a bit of chloroform onto a clean towel and pressed it to Delia’s nose.
Once Delia was unconscious, Wanda took the pronged instrument from her bag and pulled the baby out. It was a girl, strangled to death by the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck. The tiny girl had turned the blue-black color of a night storm.
That same day Otis cut a long leaf pine from the far edge of the back field, and from it he shaped the boards to make a coffin the size of a breadbox.
On Friday Benjamin wrapped the baby, called Lila, in one of the new blankets and placed her in the box. Although Delia was so weak she could hardly stand, she clung to Benjamin’s arm as Otis said a prayer then placed the tiny casket in the ground.
The turkey and pies sat on the sideboard and grew cold. No one ate, nor did they acknowledge that Thanksgiving had come and gone. While they had a son to be thankful for, they had buried a child who had never taken her first breath. It was a bittersweet day that throughout the years would force Delia to remember the girl each time they celebrated the boy’s birthday.
They named the boy Isaac and placed him in a cradle Benjamin built. Although the cradle was designed to fit a single baby, it now seemed oversized and strangely empty.
“It’s too big,” Delia complained, and when Isaac wailed or was given to unexplainable fits of crying she swore it was because he was missing the sister he’d lost.
“How can he not?” she reasoned. “They were side by side for nine months.”
When the weather turned cold and she could no longer sit on the front porch to rock the baby, Delia slid into a deep depression. Some days she could see her way clear to thank the Lord for giving them Isaac, and other days she’d curse him for taking their daughter. On the worst of those days, Delia would cry louder than Isaac and swear that losing Lila was a punishment her daddy had asked God to bring down on her.
She moved through the days like a lost shadow, cooking dinner and setting it on the table, then nibbling on nothing more than a spoonful of mashed potatoes or a tiny pile of peas. She was thin to start with, but within the month her bones began to push up against her skin and she grew knobby in places where she’d once been round.
“You’ve got to eat,” Benjamin urged. “Isaac needs food to grow.”
With Delia eating less than a sparrow, the milk in her breasts slowed to a dribble and Isaac remained small. He was given to long fits of crying and while she held fast to the thought that it was because he was missing his sister, Benjamin knew it was hunger gnawing at the baby’s stomach. On several occasions he’d leave working in the field and go into town to buy candy bars and sweet cakes for Delia. Even though those were the things she’d once craved, she’d nibble a bite or two then set them aside.
“I’ve no appetite,” she’d say and turn to stare out the window.
A week before Christmas Benjamin took money from the jar on the kitchen shelf and bought a milk goat. When he slid the nipple of the baby bottle into Isaac’s mouth, the child sucked happily. That night Isaac slept soundly and there was no crying. From that day on the baby was fed with goat’s milk, and he began to grow.
In the early spring Otis traded a day’s work for a young magnolia tree. He carried it home and planted it on the spot where they’d laid Lila to rest, and for the first time in months the trace of a smile crossed Delia’s face.
That evening she hugged Otis’ neck and whispered, “Thank you.”
When the rain came the tree took root and began to grow. It wasn’t expected to blossom in that first year, but in the first week of June tiny white buds appeared on the branches. Within days the buds burst into flowers that were so beautiful they brought tears to Delia’s eyes.
“See,” Otis said, “this is God’s way of telling us He’s got Lila in His care.”