The House of Eve (89)

After Eleanor hung up, she relayed the message to William.

“Well, that gives us just a little more time alone.”

“I guess.” Eleanor chewed the side of her nail. “What kind of delay? Mother Margaret was so vague. How long does it take to sign a few papers? Is something wrong with our baby?”

“Shh.” William reached up and started massaging the back of her neck. “Trust me, the baby is fine.”

Eleanor relaxed under his touch.

“You know,” he whispered into her ear, “this might be our last night together without any interruptions. Might as well take advantage.”

William’s pressure was soft as he turned Eleanor toward him. He cupped her behind with both hands while pressing against her. “I want you.” Eleanor could feel just how much he wanted her.

She felt herself going to putty in his embrace. Pushing her worries aside, she allowed William to lead her upstairs. He had made her a lovely dinner. They were finally in a good place and she wanted to return the favor. The baby would be here soon enough, she reasoned. Everything was okay, they were in the home stretch. With each step she took, she tried to quiet her thoughts.

Against their cool sheets, with William’s fingers in her hair, Eleanor looked into his eyes. She wanted to feel the hunger that usually came over her when he parted her thighs, but all she could think about was their baby.





CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE FORGET



Ruby




I drifted in and out of consciousness for what felt like hours. My head was foggy and my lower body throbbed. Each time I came to, an IV was plugged into my arm, connected to a long cord. There were three white people in the room and no one said anything to me about what was happening.

“Forceps,” a male voice called.

There was a constant digging between my legs that made me squirm against the stiff sheets, but there was no escape. My feet were in stirrups, with a nurse holding each leg in position.

“Wait, stop,” I managed, but my pleas fell on deaf ears. Clearly, I didn’t matter.

“Push,” the male voice said again.

I couldn’t see him past the cloth that had been draped over my knees, and I didn’t understand what was being asked of me.

“Scissors,” he said flatly.

My stomach contracted in the worst cramps I had ever felt in my life. But that feeling was quickly canceled out by the searing pain, as my skin ripped from my bottom to the base of my vagina. I had entered hell, and I screamed as cold metal was thrust inside of me, pulling and yanking.

I balled my fists and hollered.

“Hush that noise,” the nurse to my right hissed.

There was no one here to protect me. Her words stung, nearly as much as the incomprehensible pain that I felt pulsing inside of me. I was all alone. I hated Shimmy. I hated Mrs. Shapiro. I hated every white person who had their hands on me.

“Got it,” he yelled, and then the most excruciating pain I’d felt in my life rippled through me. The room went blurry and I could feel myself slipping away. But then the sound of a baby’s cry whirled me back. My head shook, and I opened my eyes as the nurse held the red baby with both hands before swaddling it in a green blanket. The cry was insistent, and I knew my baby was calling for me.

I had gone over. I was a mother.

“A boy or girl?” I whispered, but there was no response.

The man was still between my legs, and I could feel a needle pushing through my skin. Nothing was done to numb the jabbing. In and out, over and under, just like Little Sister Bethany had taught us in sewing class.

Then the doctor stood up. He looked at me for the first time, but there was no warmth in his eyes. “Try to rest,” he said, before turning and walking out the door. The nurses followed close behind with the baby.

My tears were hot and immediate. To my surprise, I longed for my mother’s embrace. I longed for Aunt Marie, too, but it was Inez I wanted more. But no one was with me. I was all alone. The resentment felt bitter between my teeth. I put my head back on my pillow and cried myself to sleep.



* * *



When I woke up, it felt like I had been to war. My lower body was on fire and the seat beneath me was soaking wet. The door opened to reveal the same nurse with the rouge on her cheeks. She was holding a small bundle.

“We need you to give her some colostrum.”

I was frozen at the sight of my baby in her arms. Seeing the baby—my baby!—would make what I was about to do real. But the nurse was impatient, reaching down and yanking my flimsy gown open before I could say anything. She put the baby on my chest, and I felt a warmth spread between us. I was holding my child.

“A girl?” I looked up at the nurse, but her gaze was cold.

“Yes, a girl.”

She grabbed my left breast with both of her rough hands and started shoving it in the baby’s mouth.

“Don’t get attached. You have five days with her. I’ll return shortly to take her back to the nursery.”

When I looked down into my little girl’s face, all I could think was that she was mine. She was so light in my arms, and when she fell away from my breast, I unwrapped her from the blanket. I examined her frog-like legs, bony knees, tiny feet and pointy fingers. She had Shimmy’s thin nose, but I could see me and a bit of Inez in her, too. But mostly, I saw Shimmy.