Still House Pond (5 page)

Tillie flashed a big smile. “Look how well we're doing,” she said, pulling the blanket back from the baby's face. “Miss Remy said it would do us a world of good to get some air.”

“Wonderful,” Copper replied, studying the infant's face. With her thumb she retracted his lower eyelid. “Looks like Jumbo's got a bit of yellow jaundice. Let's move your chair so you're sitting in the sun. Sunshine will clear this right up.”

Tillie thanked her profusely—so different from Adie.

“It is my pleasure to see you doing well.” Copper chucked Jumbo lightly under the chin. “Would you like a cup of sassafras? I'm just going in to make a pot.”

The cookstove was almost cold. Jamming a long-handled prong into a cast-iron burner plate, Copper lifted it and was rewarded by the sight of live coals. A chunk of wood from the wood box soon had the fire going again. What had gotten into Manda? She knew to keep one burner going under the teakettle. Not to mention the ironing board was still in the pantry, and it was nearly ten o'clock. Manda should have been half-done with Tuesday's task by now. Maybe she should have a talk with the young woman, but she hated to say anything. It wasn't like Manda didn't work hard when she worked. She just seemed to have her head in the clouds lately.

Copper drew the back of her hand across her forehead. Goodness, she was tired. There was so much to do. If she didn't keep on top of things, her household would fall apart. While in the pantry fetching the sassafras root, she got the ironing board from behind the door and brought it out too. After the kettle boiled, she would put the iron to heat.

Copper warmed the inside of a teapot with hot water, then emptied it into the slop bucket. The sassafras shavings made the prettiest light red tea when it steeped, and the aroma was heavenly—best treatment for the ague she knew of. She added a skein of yarn and two knitting needles to Adie's tray.

“I see you got too many irons in the fire as usual,” Remy said as she came into the kitchen with a wad of linen clutched to her chest.

Copper laughed. “I was going to press a couple of things while the tea steeped.”

“Waste of time if you ask me,” Remy said. “Why iron things that are just going to wrinkle again as soon as you sit down? Besides, ain't that Manda's job?”

“I learned ironing from my mam. It's soothing to stand in one place for a while.”

Remy hefted the tea tray. “I'll take this and a cup for Tillie. I'm going out anyway—got to leave these sheets in the washhouse. I took the opportunity to strip the sickroom bed whilst Tillie gets some air.” She looked aggrieved. “Somebody forgot them yesterday, the same somebody who forgot the ironing today.”

Copper upended the sadiron and spit on the bottom. The spit sizzled and popped. “Don't you want a cup of tea first?” she asked as she pressed the collar of John's Sunday shirt.

“Maybe when I get back.” Remy elbowed her way out the door. “I still got to mop the floor in there and wipe down the woodwork.”

Copper kept her mug on the end of the ironing board. The flowery aroma of the sassafras mingled with the starchy smell released from the laundry by the hot iron. Copper inhaled deeply, smelling work and reward at the same time. She suppressed the urge to give aid as Remy backed out the screen door with the tea tray on one hip and the bundle of wash on the other.

Remy was allergic to help, and it was a pure blessing when she could move about without the aid of her crutch. Warm weather greased her arthritic hip, giving her freedom from the usual pain. Remy never complained about her troubles, though she surely had reason. Years ago, before she was saved, Remy used to raid henhouses and cellars for sustenance. One day she picked the wrong henhouse, and an old lady came at her with a shotgun. Remy lost a lot that day and came within a hair's breadth of dying, but the shooting brought her back into Copper's life and into the arms of the Lord. “‘All things work together for good,'” Copper said.

“Are you talking to me?” Tillie called from the porch.

Copper laughed as she positioned a shirtsleeve for ironing. “I'm just citing Scripture.” Taking the opportunity she had been praying for, Copper put the iron back on the burner and stepped outside with her Bible and a mug of tea. “Do you know that verse?”

“Can't say that I do,” Tillie murmured.

Copper pulled a chair alongside the young mother and opened her Bible to Romans 8:28 and read, “‘All things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are called according to his purpose.' Isn't that a wonderful promise?”

“Do you reckon that means me too? I don't go to church or nothing.”

Copper covered one of Tillie's hands with her own. “Do you love the Lord?”

“Oh yes, ma'am—with all my heart. My mommy taught me about Jesus.”

“It sounds to me like God meant you, then. It says ‘to them that love God.' The Word of God never fails.” Copper stood and laid her Bible on the chair seat. “Let's get you back in the shade. I believe the baby has had enough sun.”

Tillie looked contemplative as she arranged the blanket around the baby. “How long do ye reckon before I could take Abe Jr. to church? I'd like to think I raised my son to have that promise for his own self.”

Copper felt a tingle walk her spine, which always happened when she sensed the Holy Spirit moving. She couldn't wait to tell John what had just happened. “I'd say wait about three months to take the baby out. By then he'll have good protection against sickness, and you'll be stronger too. In the meantime, Brother Jasper could visit you and Abe at home if you would like.”

Tillie sipped from the teacup that Remy had brought out earlier. “I would like that. I heard him praying for me the night I flooded so bad. The room got so dark I thought I could see the stars. I was swirling down a dark river; then I heard Brother Jasper calling me back to my baby.” Her eyes spurted tears. “I was so scared. I thought I was about to die.”

“Lord love your heart. That was a frightening time for all of us.”

The screen door creaked. Copper had been so intent on Tillie that Manda was nearly inside the house before she noticed the girl had come up on the porch. Manda was carrying her shoes, and she ducked when she caught Copper looking.

Just as Copper opened her mouth in question, the children straggled across the yard. Jack was covered in mud, and the twins' dress tails were wet. Lilly Gray was mad. Copper could tell by the set of her fists on her nearly nonexistent hips.

“Mama,” Lilly said, “your children do not mind very well.”

“Obviously.” Copper herded Jack to the end of the porch and stripped off his pants and shirt. She'd have to scrape the mud off his clothes with a butter knife.
Oh, well, boys will be boys.
“Stand still,” she said while watching a horse and rider draw up in the yard.

“Miz Pelfrey,” a neighbor called from horseback, “can you come? It's Mary's time.”

5

Mary Randall was made for birthing babies, Copper decided as she held a squirming newborn upside down and smacked her round bottom. The infant squalled in protest, quickly turning from blue to pink. “Mary, she's a beauty. Have you picked out a name?”

“Prude, I'm thinking,” Mary said as Copper secured the umbilical string in two places, then cut between the ties.

Copper bit her tongue.
What a name to settle on a baby,
she thought. With one more push, Mary delivered the afterbirth. All of a piece, Copper saw. Tillie Sizemore's had come out tattered. A retained piece of placenta was why she'd nearly bled to death. A million and one things could go wrong at a birthing, but this one was perfect—except for the baby's name. Folks often lived up to their forename, so what would become of little Prude?

Copper wrapped the wee one in a warmed receiving blanket and placed her on Mary's chest. “Are you naming her for someone special?”

“My ma, God rest her soul. Everybody called her Prude.” Mary unwrapped the swaddling and counted ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes. “I sure wish she was here to see her namesake.”

“Did your mother have a middle name?” Copper asked while she helped the baby to suckle.

Mary grimaced when the baby clamped on. “Merry. With two
r
's, like ‘happy.' Prudence Merry was her Christian name.

With one fingertip Copper broke the suction from the baby's mouth and repositioned her. “Does that feel better?”

“Much.” Mary settled back against the pillows Copper had stacked there.

“Merry's sure a pretty name. You could switch your mom's name around. Merry Prudence has a good ring to it. Don't you think?”

Mary fondled her infant's head. “She is pretty, ain't she? Look at her ears—so perfect. Let's see what she wants to be called. Prude?”

The baby nursed in bursts of sucks but never lost hold.

“She's good at this,” Copper said, smiling at the ease with which the feeding was going. That was not always the case. It took some infants hours to catch on, but then Mary was a natural. Copper had oft noticed that the calmer the mother, the quicker the baby latched. She herself had loved nursing, though the twins had presented a bit of a challenge. She'd learned to hold them backward, tucked around her waist like sacks of potatoes. It seemed like all she did the first year of their life was feed them. Watching Mary made her yearn to have another baby. She'd have to talk to John. The girls were three, after all. But he seemed set against it, and she would never go against his wishes.

The baby mewed like a kitten. Her head lolled away from the breast.

“Merry?” her mother said.

As if in response, the baby's eyes popped open. She stared at her mother's face.

Mary stroked the baby's palm and smiled as the small hand curled around her finger. “Looks like she's picked what she likes best.”

Copper retrieved a certificate, a pen, and a capped pot of ink from her delivery kit. “It's Merry Prudence Randall then, is it?” When Mary nodded, Copper began to fill out the form, noting place, date, hour, day of the week, and the weight and length. She always took her time with this part of the delivery process for this was an important document and would most likely be cherished in the family Bible along with, hopefully, a record of baptism and someday a certificate of marriage.

Dipping the nib of the pen in the pot, she said, “I need your maiden name and your husband's given name.”

“I was an Allen,” Mary said, shifting the baby to her other side, “and believe it or not, my husband's given name is Big Boy.”

“Really? I figured that to be a nickname,” Copper replied.

“Everyone does, but Big Boy is the name his father gave him. Too bad you weren't at that delivery. He might have had a proper first name.”

“You've got me there,” Copper said, scribing a cursive
B
. “It's just that names are so important. I once delivered a baby whose father insisted on naming him Nimrod Axel. That bothers me to this day.”

After pressing a piece of blotting paper over the document, Copper set it aside to dry before she put her seal on it. “Speaking of Big Boy, I'd best go fetch him so he can meet his daughter. Last time I checked, he was walking a circle in the barn. He said he was too nervous to wait in the kitchen.”

Mary clasped Copper's hand. “Thank you ever so much. I would never have made it without you.”

Big Boy was indeed right where she had left him, but now he was polishing tack. “You're going to wear that leather out,” she said.

Big Boy dropped the harness. “Is Mary all right?”

“Mary is fine, and your daughter is beautiful.”

Big Boy caught her in a bear hug and whirled her around the barn. “A girl. Are you sure?”

Copper laughed. He was the nicest man. He reminded her of her father. “I'm sure. Go see for yourself.”

Big Boy dashed a tear from his eye. “I never thought to see this day. I feel like the luckiest man alive.”

Copper followed him across the yard, tarrying outside to give the parents some privacy with their newborn. Those moments alone were precious, and she felt it strengthened the couple's union.

Exhaustion overtook her, and she paused to rest under the large leaves and low-hanging beans of a catalpa tree. Her shoulders and lower back ached from the day's hard work. They didn't call it labor for nothing. But even as her muscles protested, her spirit soared. What sweet glory to guide a new life into the world. Nothing else gave her such satisfaction.

Looking toward the distance, she watched twilight sashay down the face of the mountains. The vivid greens of the forest turned to shadowy gray and muted khaki. This day would soon be over. She wondered how her children were and what they'd had for supper. She felt a heart pang knowing she wouldn't be there to tuck them into bed. John would, though. She could count on him.

As if her thoughts had conjured him up, there John rode across the yard. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said before he even dismounted. “How goes it?”

“A baby girl,” she replied, “six pounds, eight ounces.”

“And Mary?”

“She did great. Everything went smooth as clockwork.”

John handed over a basket before he tethered the horse. “Manda sent supper.”

“Smells good. I'll get it on the table.”

John took the basket back and set it on the ground. “First things first,” he said, tilting her chin. His kiss was light and easy as befitted the place, but it claimed her still.

“That's almost as good as the fried chicken I know is in this basket.”

“Almost?” he said, with a smack to her fanny. “Since when do I vie with fried chicken?”

She scampered ahead of him through the door. “The last time I ate was breakfast. I'm starved.”

“So am I. But not for chicken.”