In His Eyes
Stephenia H. McGee
Washington County, Mississippi, 1865
Ella Whitaker braced herself for another of the woman’s screams. Swallowing her fear lest it show in her eyes, she bathed Cynthia’s sweat soaked brow. “There, now. That one is passing.” Cynthia panted and turned her head to the side, letting out a soft moan. Grasping for any measure of comfort to offer the woman, Ella forced a cheerful smile. “The midwife will be here soon, and she will be able to help ease the pain.”
Cynthia let out another wail as the next contraction gripped her. Ella couldn’t be sure, but she thought the pains were getting closer together. She dipped the cloth again and moved to wipe Cynthia’s rouge smeared face once more, but the woman seized her wrist.
“Ain’t no midwife coming for me, girl.” She closed her eyes and sucked air through her stained lips. “Not a one wants to be known for helping the likes of me.”
Ella shook her head and crossed the bare floor. She only had to take two steps to cover the cramped quarters before grasping the welcoming cool of the knob. “I’ll go down and check. If she cannot come, then surely one of the wives down below can help. I really shouldn’t be here for a birthing, being unwed and all.”
Cynthia’s next scream sent a shiver down Ella’s spine. “Get it out!”
Her heart beating furiously, Ella snatched open the door and scrambled down the Buckhorn Inn’s creaking stairs. Below, the stale air thick with the smells of travelers—horses, dirt, and unwashed bodies—made her cough. Several coaches had arrived this morning, dumping out scores of volunteer troops for a respite before continuing their journeys to their homes. Men huddled in groups and gathered at the long tables gulping their ale and laughing over cards like they hadn’t just lost a war. It wasn’t even high noon, yet already some of them laughed too loudly and stumbled when they stood. Two weeks now she’d had to work here, but she didn’t think she’d ever grow used to this dank environment.
Ella scrunched her nose. Whether she liked it or not, she must grow accustomed to her new home, for it seemed this was her only future now that she had to face the world alone. Smoothing her frown and resisting the urge to cover her nose, Ella burst into the kitchen. At least it smelled like overcooked meat and burned grease in here.
“Mrs. Hatch, I need your—”
The older woman spun away from the crowded prep space with a loaded tray in her hands and a scowl on her wrinkled face. “There you are! I told you not to disappear on me again. We need more girls servin’ the men. You’re out of the kitchen today. We have a score more of them than we did yesterday.”
A new pang of fear gripped her. Ella bunched her stained apron in her fists. The innkeeper’s wife shoved the tray into her stomach, forcing the air to flee Ella’s lungs.
“No arguing from you, girl,” she said before scooping up a pitcher and scurrying for the door. “Get going.”
Ella found her breath. “Wait!”
Mrs. Hatch turned back to look at her before pushing the kitchen door open. “What? I got men out there that needs more drink to soothe their wounds.”
“This is more important.”
The woman hesitated and Ella seized her chance. “The woman upstairs is in the throes of childbirth and needs help.”
The other woman’s face contorted.
“There’s no midwife but…but… you’ve birthed children,” Ella blurted before Mrs. Hatch could respond.
Mrs. Hatch’s thin upper lip twitched. “I ain’t going up there with that trollop. She’s got the French Disease. It’s enough I even let her in.”
Ella’s jaw tightened. Mrs. Hatch had only let the woman in yesterday because Cynthia had paid twice the normal amount for a few nights of lodging. That… and she had Federal currency.
“She’s diseased.” Mrs. Hatch softened slightly. “Don’t you see? It’s best you stay away from her, lest you get it too and ruin any chance you got of snagging a man.”
Whether or not the sickness could be passed along to another person during childbirth, Ella had no idea. She’d heard that it could only be passed by way of the secret things that happened between men and women, but who was she to say? Ella hesitated. Mrs. Hatch could be right, but even so, Ella would still help Cynthia. She opened her mouth to say so, but the other woman spoke first.
“Besides, she deserves her lot.” Mrs. Hatch wagged her finger. “You have duties here.”
Ella lowered her eyes, speaking softly. “But…I think something is wrong. Someone must help her.”
“Look here. There’s plenty of waifs on the streets looking for work. You ain’t the only scullery maid to be had.”
Fear bubbled in her empty stomach, and Ella lifted her eyes back to Mrs. Hatch’s scowling face. True, she needed her work. How else would she keep a roof overhead and at least something once a day to fill her belly?
Mrs. Hatch lifted her bushy eyebrows. “So, then, either you get that food to the patrons or you get out of my inn.”
Ella gulped and opened her mouth to reply, but the other woman had already pushed through the door and disappeared. Wavering slightly, Ella numbly followed her employer out the door, mumbling to herself about her cowardice.
If she must serve or leave, then she would serve quickly and be done with it. She couldn’t go back out there alone again…unprotected. She shoved the memories aside.