Dollybird (16 page)

CHAPTER 24

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DILLAN

Something pulled
at the cotton that stopped up my head with sleep, tearing me out of my dream: Mule hanging in a tree as if from the gallows, a rope round his neck and hood over his head.

“Dillan, Dillan, wake up.”

The tree branch was thick and high off the ground. I watched myself try to climb up to cut him down; but the tree grew as I climbed, and the branch was always just out of reach.

“It's time, Dillan.”

“Huh. What?”

“The baby. It's time.”

“But Mule is dead.”

I opened my eyes to see Moira looking at me. “Dillan. Listen to me.” She said it slowly like she was talking to an imbecile, her voice calm but pained. “It started yesterday, small contractions, but I didn't know how long to wait. I thought it might be nothing, but my water broke and now...”

A shaft of moonlight beamed through the cracks around the window curtains, and I saw her beside the bed. Suddenly she doubled over, moaned and grabbed her belly with one hand, the bedpost with the other.

“Oh my Christ.” I grabbed my pants from the floor and pulled them on.

“What do I do?” I asked, and she was seized by another pain. I'd never felt such terror, not even when Taffy died. I'd been too stupid to know what was possible. Looking for something I recognized, I started toward the door. “I'll go to town and get the doctor.” But a picture of Doctor Gibson reaching into Taffy flashed through my head. “No, Mrs. Miller is closer. I'll go there.”

“Stop. No time. You have to help,” Moira said through clenched teeth.

I shook my head no, while she nodded yes.

“I'll tell you what to do.” She was already turning away, groaning. “Help me to the bed.”

I wanted to run, but forced myself to her side and took her by the elbow. She leaned into me, hunched and breathing deep, one hand under her belly propping it up. When the pain passed, she straightened a little and shuffled across the kitchen. Finally we were beside her bed, where the sheets were twisted round themselves. Helping her down to the mattress, I felt the dampness of her sweat. She must have been awake and alone for a long time.

“I don't know what to do, Moira.” My voice cracked out a whisper.

“It's okay, Dillan.” She tried to smile. “I have to do most of it anyway.”

She was trying to be brave and funny, and I was being an idiot, needing her to make me feel better.

“Just light a lantern and the stove and put some water on. We'll need hot water before long.”

She stopped real quick, her mouth open like a scream, another pain wrenching her face. The moonlight played round her wild hair, making her a little frightening to look at. I was happy when she turned away and slowly rolled over so her back was to the room and her knees drawn up to her stomach. I listened for her breathing, loud through her nose at times, soft and light through her mouth at others.

I shook awake, forcing myself to get busy. I built a teepee of kindling in the stove, stoked it into a small fire with wood chips and dried cow dung, then filled the large copper kettle and set it on top. It only took a few minutes. I wished there was more to do. Shuffling closer I could hear Moira quietly moaning on her bed; across the room Casey whimpered.

“Are you all right?”

“I think...,” she paused for breath, “...that it will come soon.”

My chest was collapsing in so tight I could hardly breathe. When Taffy had moaned in the livery, I'd only prayed, trusting in God. But he didn't give a fug then either. Shit, I needed more time to figure out what to do.

“Moira. I don't know. I'd better go get someone.”

“No,” she almost shouted. “Don't leave me alone.”

She grabbed my hand so hard it felt like our finger bones were mashing together. Her eyes were full of pain and fear and something else too. I wanted to snatch my hand away.

“Oh my back,” she groaned. “Prop me up with pillows, please Dillan.”

It was hard to look at her and hard not to. I set the lantern by the bed and she squirmed like she was trying to get away from her own body, her face dripping with sweat, nightgown up around her thighs. She acted like I wasn't there, like she didn't care if I saw her nakedness. It made me want to try harder not to. Her face was squished up into itself and she was breathing heavy. I tried to help, propping her up with our few thin pillows, twisting a blanket into a roll to shove behind her. She pushed her back into it.

“The baby must be upside down.” Every word came out in a pant. “The back of its head must be pushing on my back.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means it hurts like hell,” she yelled.

I'd only asked a question.

“If it won't come when I start to push, you'll have to reach in and turn its head.”

“What? I can't do that. I don't know how.” It was an impossible thing.

She screeched and Casey sat straight up, calling out. I went over to him. “Go to sleep. Whatever happens you stay in your bed.
You hear me?”

He nodded, found his thumb, eyes drooping as he lay down again. I went back to Moira. She grabbed my face hard between her hands.

“Look. If you don't do this, the baby won't come.” She let go, pain washing into her face. When it left again, her dazed eyes found mine, and she spoke slowly, as though I was a two-year-old and this was her only chance to make me understand. “If the baby won't come, it'll die. And so will I.”

I stared at her.

“Dillan,” she shouted so I jumped back. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, yes,” I stuttered, trying to ignore the fear lodged in my throat, the pictures in my head of Casey howling for his dead mother. My breath came shallow and fast, keeping time with Moira's. “All right then. What do you want me to do now?”

“Rub my back.” She whimpered the words, as though my agreement to help had released her from needing to cope. “Please. It hurts so much. Right at the base of my spine. There, right there. Rub it harder.”

I was afraid to push too hard, afraid to hurt her.

“Harder.”

She was frantic, up on all fours now, back arched like a cat rising to my fist digging into the spot she'd guided it to. I'd expected her to lie still and bring her baby into the world calm and organized like she was. All this twisting and screaming and carrying on; it was unnatural. Sweat beaded her forehead and ran down the wide bridge of her nose, dripping onto her upper lip. That instant she tucked her lip in, sucking it dry. The next she let out an animal grunt, her body twisting toward my hand again. I rubbed for hours, changing hands each time one went numb. We didn't speak. She was away someplace where I was an outsider; yet if I took a break from kneading her back, she'd look at me quick and sharp.

“Sitting,” she gasped suddenly. “I should be sort of sitting now. Help me.”

I arranged pillows and blankets behind her and tried to cover her. She kicked the sheet aside, legs thrashing and hands grasping the sides of the bed. The fits were more intense now, closer together.

She looked at me quickly, eyes narrowed, clear and alert. “It's coming now.” She took a deep breath. Her face shot through with red and purple veins, eyes bulging, heels digging for traction. When the push ended she sagged into the pillows. In an instant another seized her, this one ending in a scream. Casey's eyes were wide when I looked at him.

“Quiet, okay.”

He nodded, his face gone white, knuckles pushed into his mouth.

Moira rested a moment.

“I don't think it's coming.” She breathed hard. “Something's wrong, Dillan.” The edge of fear in her voice sent me reeling again.

“What do I do?”

“You need to look.” And at my shock, “well what does it matter now, Dillan? Look.”

I slid slowly further down the bed, fingering the flowered cotton edge of her nightgown. She yanked it up and pushed me toward the end of the bed, tears in her eyes.

“Please, Dillan,” she whispered. “You have to.”

All the people in my life whirled about us – Taffy, my father,
Casey – fingers pointed, their eyes cruel, mocking my impo
tence, my sorry life. But Moira wanted me to do this. I didn't know how to take control, had no talent for power. But she was giving it to me. I looked at her and she gave me a small smile. Taking her hand, I smiled back and nodded.

She was beyond tired, lolling back and drifting off between spasms. I would have to be quick or she might not be able to finish the job. Fighting off embarrassment, I looked between her legs at the mound of wiry black hair, the swollen opening, gaping and wet with fluid. The mountain of her belly was the only sign of a baby even though she'd been at this for hours. Slowly touching her, gently as I could, I pushed my rough fingers in. I didn't know what I was supposed to feel.

“Reach as far as you can.” Her teeth were clenched.

“I don't want to hurt you.”

“Just do it.”

Pushing harder, her body tightened around my hand, and I had to wait for the pain to pass before I reached again. Until finally there it was, a tiny mound of fuzz soft against my fingertips. Gently as I could, I felt the dip of its eyes, the small rise of its nose, the tiny mouth that would give it a voice to say its own name. It was face up, the back of its head wedged against Moira's spine.

“I can feel it, Moira.” I hadn't expected the tears or the catch in my throat.

“Turn it just a little to the left.” She was gasping, the pain making her voice fill up the room with each word.

The top of the small head fit easily into my fingertips. I turned it as gently as I knew how, but Moira screamed. It was the cry of the wounded rabbit I'd once found in Da's trap in the woods near our house. Knowing there'd be no supper, I'd released it anyway, holding its small, furry body close an instant. But I couldn't give Moira such relief. Instead I left my hand inside her while the baby's movement brought on another fit of pain, and then I turned it again, just a little. Then waited and turned, waited and turned. Moira was getting weaker; she didn't seem to know when to push. All the while Casey was whimpering and edging himself off his bed and closer to me.

“I can't do it any more.” Moira sagged between the spasms, nodding off, coming to again. I watched her, squeezing her calf now and then to try to send encouragement. And suddenly the baby's head was moving freely. I wanted to shout, but when I looked up Moira's eyes were rolling back, her head lolling to one side.

“You have to push, Moira. I think it will come now, but you have to push.”

“I can't. Leave me alone.”

“Moira, just a little bit more. You can't give up.”

“I can't do it.” She wept as another wave hit her. “Just let me die.”

“What?” My voice roared out of me and her eyes opened wide. “All this and now you want to die? I won't let you die. You can die later. Right now this baby needs to be born.”

I was glad for the hate in her eyes. She was back with me. I steadied her then, lifting her so she had more support for her back, and her feet could push against the bedposts. I felt old, like this moment had been coming for years – a lifetime of bad choices and worse decisions bringing me here to prove myself. I took a deep breath.

“Now push, Moira. Hard. Just a few times. I'm sure it'll come.”

She gathered herself into a clenched ball and pushed, her scream shattering the night. Three more times, and the baby dove into my waiting hands. Slimy and red and wrinkled, it sat cupped there, stunned by the light. I could only stare like a jackass, relieved and amazed. And then I knew just what to do. I wiped her small face with a cloth and squeezed her tiny nostrils together and down to get rid of the nasty stuff in there. Then I held her upside down and smacked her bottom. She cried out, angry, just like Moira.

Moira was looking at me like I was someone she didn't recognize. I smiled. “You can thank Doctor Gibson.” I settled the baby on her slack belly, found scissors among her things and snipped the cord like I'd seen Gibson do for Casey. Moira gathered the now-howling baby girl into her arms, and I covered them both with a light blanket.

I brought Casey over. He reached out a shy finger to touch the baby's head and then shrunk into my arms. I took him back to his bed asking him to wait a minute, and went to Moira.

“Thank you,” she said, looking at the baby, then smiling up at me.

We were awkward again, like when an intimate thing happens between people and suddenly the lantern is lit.

“You can clean up later. Right now you should get to know each other.”

Pictures of Casey and Taffy rushed into my head and I fled outside, ran to the corner of the house and threw up, legs damn near buckling. After a long while I pulled myself to the well, scrubbed my hands and face and slicked back my hair. The gift I'd been working on was hidden off behind the house under an old tarp. It had taken weeks to finish. Carefully I crept into the house and set it at the foot of Moira's bed. The baby was sleeping in her arms, her mouth slightly open, eyes squeezed shut. I reached down to brush the hair from Moira's face.