The Personal History of Rachel DuPree_ A Novel - Ann Weisgarber [96]
Over my shoulder, I said, “My buttons. I can’t reach them.”
I stood without moving while Isaac undid all thirty-four buttons. I kept my eyes fixed on his pocket watch on the dresser, my heart pounding to the jerky tick of the second hand. The shock of Isaac’s touch made my skin sing. He didn’t seem to notice the gooseflesh on my neck. He didn’t rush; he took his time, careful not to tear the satin.
Years later, in the Badlands waiting on a baby that had to get itself born, I let myself cry. Isaac, I thought. You never hurt my flesh. Only my heart. After a while my tears ran out. I put the wedding dress away, blew out the lantern, and got into bed.
Early in the night, my water broke. It wasn’t much more than a slow trickle. I got up and cleaned up as best as I could and then went back to bed. From time to time the baby pulled me awake, but not all that often and not with any kind of pattern. When the parlor clock chimed five times, I got out of bed and sat in my rocker to help ease the pinching ache in my back. I hadn’t had a labor pain for a long while, and I told myself that was good. As soon as it lightened up a bit, I’d send John for Isaac. That way John could meet him halfway, hurry him along.
When I woke John an hour later and told him what I wanted him to do, he said, “I’ll run the whole way to Mr. McKee’s.”
“No. You’ll wear out too quick. Walk. Promise me.”
I told him to get two cold biscuits for his breakfast and to take Rounder with him. Then I went back to my bedroom and sat in the rocker. Mary, in her white nightdress, came to my open door. “Mama?”
“The baby’s holding off.”
“That’s good, real good.”
“Go on and see to the girls. I hear Emma fussing.”
She nodded.
“And close my door. Don’t let anybody in.” I didn’t want them seeing me when the pains came.
The bedroom turned airless and dark with the door closed even though the small window above the bed was open. I stayed in my rocker, finding the bed too soft. I tried not to think about John on the road with only Rounder to give him courage. I tried not to think about why the labor pains weren’t coming like they should. Instead, I listened to the morning sounds as the house woke up. It soothed me to hear the clinking of pots and crockery as Mary got breakfast. These were good sounds and as familiar as the voices of our children.
A pain kicked my belly. I buckled and bit my lip to keep from crying out. Tears ran down my cheeks and it wasn’t just because of the pain. I was glad. The baby was doing what it should, and Isaac and John were likely just down the road a short ways.
I was half asleep when Mary brought me a biscuit and a cup of water. Rousing myself, I said, “The girls, they asking for me?”
“They’re in the kitchen; they’re being good. Told them you have a bellyache. They’re getting restless, though. Think it’d be all right if I took them to get cow chips?”
“Is the wind blowing hard?”
“Some.”
“Make them wear their bandannas.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Keep a tight eye on them, don’t let them out of your sight.”
“I won’t.”
“What time is it?”
“About half past eight.”
What was keeping Isaac and John? I said, “When the wheelbarrow’s half full, come in and see if I need you. I likely won’t, but do it anyway.”
The morning wore on and I kept thinking about Isaac and John, worrying about why they weren’t home yet. Once a pain hit so hard that a knife twisting in my spine couldn’t have hurt worse. I stuffed one of the rags in my mouth to keep from hollering. When the pain passed, I felt washed out and used up. My head ached like something was squeezing the top. Sweat ran from my hair.
Isaac, I kept thinking. Get home.
The pains were coming more often, and if Isaac were with me, he’d have his watch in hand. He’d know to the minute—to the very second even—the spacing of the pains. He’d be making bets on the exact time of the birth.
If he were here, Isaac would cheer up the children with a game. He’d make pebbles in his hand disappear and then