Caroline: Little House, Revisited(84)
Mrs. Scott combed and combed, not untangling now, but soothing Caroline with her long, slow strokes. To think that Mrs. Scott had it in her to be kind after everything she had already done. It was almost too sweet to bear, but Caroline had no strength to resist. The fever had wrung her so dry, she felt brittle, inside and out.
Most of all, she wanted to see Carrie, but she did not want to ask. To ask would be the same as confessing that she had believed the absurd notion that had risen out of the fever-addled coils of her brain. Mrs. Scott had told her the baby was safe, and Caroline did not doubt it. Yet her body was unsatisfied. Her arms begged for the reassurance of the weight and shape of the child, the perfect fit of her, belly to belly and cheek to breast. She felt the insistent press of her milk—Carrie’s milk—against her upper arms and took what comfort she could from its undeniable link with the baby.
While she waited for Carrie to wake, Caroline swallowed the powdered bitters Dr. Tann had left behind, puckering like a child at the way it drew every atom of moisture from her mouth. She lifted the mug for more water, but Mrs. Scott brought a spoonful of cream instead. “Don’t swallow it right off. Hold it in your mouth a minute.” Caroline obliged, and her entire face relaxed at the touch of that thick cream. It was silky-sweet and sank into the roughened surface of her tongue as softly as a kiss. Caroline’s eyes rolled up blissfully to Mrs. Scott, who burst out laughing. “My mother’s trick,” she said. “Never fails. Most folks put their dose of quinine right into a mug of milk, but it’s not nearly the same.”
The laughter stirred Charles, who roused long enough to down his bitters and roll over. Presently a thin complaint rose from the washtub.
With the prick of the child’s cry came a gentle bursting behind Caroline’s breasts, and two warm, wet spots bloomed on her nightdress. She craned her neck, and there was Carrie, curled on Mrs. Scott’s bosom like a little pink snail. Caroline’s whole body seemed to smile as her eyes fell across the baby.
Mrs. Scott laid Carrie in her arms and helped her with the buttons. Caroline touched Carrie’s wan little cheek with a fingertip. Carrie reached toward it, her lips poised in a taut pink oval. She briefly mouthed Caroline’s finger, then found her proper place and sucked so hard and fast, Caroline hardly recognized her.
In the time it took for their shared astonishment to register, Carrie’s face buckled. Her tongue darted in and out as she spluttered. Caroline wiped the milk from Carrie’s chin and tickled the child’s lips with her nipple. Carrie took another great gulp, then arched backward and squalled.
“That’ll be the quinine,” Mrs. Scott clucked. “I imagine she’ll taste every dose of bitters same as you do, Mrs. Ingalls.”
Caroline pressed her cheek to Carrie’s forehead, stroking her back as she shrieked. Carrie’s skin felt loose, a garment too big for her spindly frame. At the touch of those tender wrinkles, a tremor rose up out of Caroline’s chest. A feeble sob, or a last rattle of fever, she could not tell. The baby’s cries were so penetrating, Caroline felt as though she were dissolving into them. “Poor thing,” she said.
“You’ll be squalling yourself unless you drain some of your milk,” Mrs. Scott remarked. “It’s a wonder you haven’t already come down with a case of bad breast on top of everything else. My sister-in-law uses cabbage leaves to take the swelling down, but there won’t be a cabbage in these parts for another month at least.”
Anger crackled between Caroline’s ribs so abruptly, she gasped at its sudden sharp heat. To lack something so simple as a cabbage! The baby would never have suffered so if they’d been struck with fever and ague in Wisconsin. None of them would, not with Henry and Polly so near.
“Why, Mrs. Ingalls!” Mrs. Scott exclaimed. “You look feverish all over again.”
“It’s only—” Caroline stopped and shook her head. She could not lie, any more than she could tell the truth. “It’s too much,” she managed. “Everything.” She looked helplessly down at Carrie, then at Mrs. Scott, ashamed to ask aloud for her to take the baby back again. But there was not one thing Caroline could do for her daughter.
Mrs. Scott understood what she wanted, if not why she wanted it, and scooped Carrie up. “I’m not surprised,” she said over Carrie’s screams. She gave Caroline’s elbow a knowing squeeze. “I saved back some of the cream for her, just in case. Don’t you waste your strength worrying.” Caroline nodded dumbly, aware only that her milk had become unspeakably bitter.
“I don’t know how I can ever thank you,” Caroline said to Mrs. Scott. It could not be done. Both of them knew that. Caroline refused to so much as contemplate what sort of misfortune would have to befall the Scotts before she could repay her debts to them. Two more days Mrs. Scott had stayed. Even after Charles staggered up from the bed, she insisted on getting the meals and spoon feeding the baby in the wee hours so they both might rest through the night.
“Pshaw!” Mrs. Scott scoffed. “What are neighbors for but to help each other out?”
Caroline nodded. It was so. She had not fully known it, living alongside family most of her life. Caroline thought of embracing her, as she would have embraced Polly or Eliza, but did not know how to do it. Instead she contented herself with imagining the momentary feel of her heart pressing its thanks against the big woman’s chest.