Speak Through the Wind (44 page)

“You should be ashamed.”

“No, what I should be is rich. Anyway, when I got her down to nothin’, I seen she wasn’t but skin and bones, with that perfect little tummy bump.”

“You won’t do it, will you? You would not … hurt that baby.”

“Well, I don’t know,” Jewell said, taking a huge, stretching yawn. “She ain’t much value to me in that condition.”

Kassandra caught Jewell’s arm midstretch. “Don’t do it,” she said, more strongly than she had intended. “You have seen what can happen.”

“You talkin’ about you?” Jewell tugged her arm out of Kassandra’s grasp. “Missy, I seen lots worse than you went through. Even had to do it once for Gloria’s ma—at her request, of course. You know, it ain’t every woman as keen as you to lug some brat around all her life.”

“Do not talk to me of children,” Kassandra said, fully angry now, but speaking in a sharp whisper so as not to disturb the others. “You have no right.”

“This ain’t about you.”

“How far along do you think she is?”

“I’d guess four months.”

“Think of how dangerous that is.”

“Look, Sadie, she ain’t even asked me for nothin’ yet.”

“But if she does, what will you say?”

Jewell let out a sigh, as if feigning disappointment. “I ain’t decided.”

“Jewell, she is young and beautiful.” Kassandra’s voice rose, and she found herself speaking through the threat of tears. “Don’t take away all of her chances to have a beautiful child.”

“She can always have more kids if she wants. Later.”

“Like I can?” Kassandra asked, holding Jewell’s gaze and using all her strength not to erupt into wailing. “Tell me, Jewell. Am I ever going to be able to have more children?”

“I don’t know. I ain’t God and I sure ain’t no doctor.”

“Then remember that tomorrow morning when you talk to this—Gloria.”

“It ain’t my call.”

Kassandra reached down to take off her second boot. “Of course it is your call. When have you ever answered to anybody?”

t didn’t take long for Gloria to fit in with the rest of the house. Obviously no stranger to the brothel life, she seemed to appreciate the camaraderie of the other women, and Biddy seemed fascinated with her every move.

Despite several offers from Kassandra, Mae, and Biddy to share their room with her, Gloria insisted in staying in the little one-room cabin built behind the main house—the evidence of Jewell’s long-abandoned dream of expansion.

“I like having a house to myself,” she’d said upon each invitation. “I never have before.” None of the women could argue with that.

To the delight of everybody—even Jewell, Kassandra suspected, though the woman would never admit to it—Gloria’s pregnancy blossomed before their very eyes. When Gloria’s clothes no longer fit, Mae generously shared hers, and Gloria good-naturedly wore the voluminous material draped over her belly, exposing her legs halfway up her shins.

“Jewell’s changed,” she told Kassandra one day when the two women had a moment to chat alone.

“How so?”

“She used to be the biggest madam in town,” Gloria said. “San Francisco, during the rush.”

“Do not remind her,” Kassandra said. “She would never admit it, but I think she is just a little bit happy.”

The only place Gloria didn’t seem to feel comfortable was in the parlor where the men were, and truth be told, they seemed to shy away from her, too. No one would dispute that she was the most beautiful woman in the house, with a perfect cascade of blond curls and eyes the color of the lakes that formed from the melting snow on the surrounding mountaintops. But their eyes were inevitably drawn to her protruding belly, and the sight of it made them squirm. So she spent a lot of time in Jewell’s kitchen, tidying up, washing dishes, but leaving all the cooking to Mae.

In fact, Mae’s cooking had added quite a few pounds not only to Gloria, but to Biddy as well. Kassandra took a maternal satisfaction in seeing the two grow healthier, sturdier with each meal, and she silently marveled that Jewell’s own girth had not been affected.

“I got nowhere else to go,” Jewell had said one time when Kassandra commented on the subject. “And I figure tall as you are, you’re just startin’ to fill up at your toes and work your way up.”

They estimated that the baby would be born late in March, and Kassandra assured Gloria that she could be counted on to act as midwife when the time came. But nothing seemed to put the younger woman’s mind at ease. During several late-night chats, sometimes in Jewell’s kitchen and other times sitting together on Gloria’s bed, Kassandra told her everything to expect. How awful the pain would be, but how soon it would be forgotten. How cumbersome her body would become, but how much she would miss carrying that child.

She had been reluctant to give all the details of her own children, afraid to squash any joy that Gloria would feel about the impending birth of her child. She told her that her first child had died, but not the grisly circumstances. She told her about her daughter, born healthy and strong and living with a loving family, in the hope that should Gloria not love this baby, she would seek such a home for it. And she told her about the horrible loss of miscarriage in the hope that Gloria would in some way see her full pregnancy as a blessing.

“How old are you?” Gloria asked, as if to calculate how one woman could have so much loss in one life.

“Twenty-five,” Kassandra said after a moment’s hesitation.

“Oh. You … you seem … older.”

Kassandra smiled reassuringly. “I got started very young.”

“Didn’t we all?” Gloria said with a sigh.

Kassandra often caught glimpses of Gloria running her hands over her stomach, a slight smile on her face. She wished—not for the first time—that she had access to all the herbs and ingredients Imogene had taught her how to use all those years ago. Instead, she dispensed what advice she could, telling Gloria to sit with her feet elevated whenever possible, to try to walk a little every day, and to keep track of when and how often and how vigorously the baby moved. She took great satisfaction for herself with every bit of counsel, and felt a tiny bit of the sadness at the loss of her own children melt away with the hope of bringing this one safely into the world.

That January saw a warm spell, with several days in a row inching well above zero. Much of the snow melted, everybody’s spirits lifted, and an unexpected supply train made a surprise visit up the narrow mountain pass. Word spread quickly, and soon Jewell’s yard was teeming with men ready for anything fresh, food or drink. The women of Jewell’s house made a party of it with sandwiches and cookies and a tap in the last keg of beer.

Kassandra saw Gloria watching the festivities from behind the curtained window of her little cabin, but soon urged her to come out and join the celebration. She had taken the iron to her own hair for the first time in months and created curls that spilled over her shoulders. And when Gloria asked for help with her own, Kassandra was more than happy to comply.

That was the day she learned that Gloria was not the only expectant mother in Silver Peak. The man she and Jewell had known as the killer from South Pass made a rare appearance with his wife. Mrs. MacGregan sought no friendship with the women of Jewell’s house, and they sought none with her. In fact, Mrs. MacGregan rarely came down to the central part of the camp, and when she did, she clung to her husband’s arm, looking as if she wished the ground would open up and suck her down.

It was Gloria who pointed out that the woman was pregnant. “You should talk to her,” she said. “Offer to help.”

“But of course,” Kassandra said. “Then maybe we will drink some tea and tell each other secrets.”

“Listen,” Gloria said. “She’s going to need a midwife.”

It was the idea of being needed that drew Kassandra toward this sickly, sour-faced woman, so she took Gloria’s arm, and together they crossed the yard to introduce themselves.

After several awkward exchanges, during which Mrs. MacGregan seemed determined to deny her condition, Kassandra finally blurted out, “I am a skilled midwife.” She had never identified herself as such, and the sound of the words coming from her mouth made her feel the pride of it. True, it had been nearly ten years since she had helped deliver a baby, but the notes copied in the back pages of Clara’s Bible were at that moment as clear to her as if she had them folded in her pocket.

“When your time comes, just send your husband down, and I’ll be right up to help you.”

“That’s good to know,” Mr. MacGregan said.

He held out his hand to shake hers. Kassandra stood for just a second, not knowing what to do. No man had ever offered her his hand before; her hand had always been taken, to be led up a flight of stairs to some upstairs room or held tight lest she try to squirm out of an embrace. Men had used their hands to stroke her shoulders, pinch her body, hold her down. But a handshake? This was a gesture of equality. This was an acknowledgment that she was a person worthy of respect.

Nervous, actually afraid that she might do something wrong, she reached her hand out. His grasp was firm and strong, and the touch of it gave Kassandra a sense of satisfaction she’d never imagined for herself.

Then it was gone.

“He will not be darkening the door of your house,” Mrs. MacGregan was saying, having slapped her husband’s hand away from Kassandra’s grip.

Mr. MacGregan apologized profusely for his wife’s behavior, but his wife showed no sign of contrition. Kassandra heard very little of the exchange, her head ringing with the shame of Mrs. MacGregan’s judgment. How silly she’d been to think that she could ever rise above this pit she had dug for herself.

“Well then, good day to you,” she said, her words sounding hollow, as if spoken from a well.

She turned and walked back to Jewell’s house. Back to her place.

t was a snowy night late in March when Gloria’s baby arrived. The women had been enjoying a quiet evening in the kitchen when Kassandra noticed Gloria wince just a little, not calling for any attention, then leave her companions early to retire to her little cabin out back.