The Wilful Daughter (52 page)

“
Long, sir?” the Piano man said to his gray haired father-in-law.

“
Babies, son. It’s babies. They take their time being born, some of them. Others? Well, they push themselves right out.”

Minnelsa screamed again. “Sounds like this one is going to take a while.”

That was all the Piano man needed to know, that the night would go on and on with his wife’s cries and he had no comfort to give her.

He continued to sit still and sip his port and pretend that this was a normal birth, a birth in pain.

June faired far worse than the Piano Man as the night went on. Yes, he had been tempted by her very presence since she had returned but he had done nothing about it. She wanted him, he knew that. He understood why-their passion was like the music.

He was a married man. He must think of some way for her not to expose things even more.

To her father-who might kill him.

To her mother-who might disown him.

To his wife-who already hated him.

Then he thought-they have more to lose than me. I have sold my land and can go whenever I want.

Ophelia came to mind.

How could he leave without her?

Why did she seem to mean more to him than this baby born of a holy but unstable union?

There was no passion with Minnelsa. There was a little love, but no passion. There was a home and a family and a house but no passion. Unlike the Blacksmith, who was a common laborer no matter how much land and money he had, he was an artist and he lived his life with passion.

When the screaming had started, when the women had ordered the men to leave that part of the house, the Blacksmith had taken his granddaughter to her Aunt Rosa’s house to rest quietly.

“
Why is mommy screaming?” she had asked her father and grandfather as they made their escape in the dark.

She seemed nervous and worried. “Is mama going to die?”

The baby’s coming was all they told her so she smiled and rested her head on the big barrel chest of her grandfather and went to sleep before the car reached Rosa’s house.

His Ophelia, child of passion.

* * *

It was near dawn, almost eight hours since the labor began, when a calm Bira entered the Blacksmith’s private room. Her face showed the stress as she sat next to her husband.

“
Is she really in that much pain?” the Blacksmith asked his wife. He rubbed her shoulders and let his hand slide down her back to her waist. The Piano Man watched them. What kind of love did they possess to share a moment like this without tears?

Surely the Blacksmith was not a passionate man.

“
It seems to be a pain in her mind,” Bira stifled a yawn. “It’s as if her mind refuses to accept the fact that she is giving birth. She won’t allow her body to cooperate. She is tense, she can’t relax and each pain drives her to the brink. Something has taken hold of her spirit and she doesn’t want to let it go.” She looked at the Piano man. “Perhaps you could comfort her.”

The Blacksmith shook his head. “That room is no place for any man right now except the doctor. Can’t he do something?”

“
He says that she needs to relax and let go of the pain. I agree. All women get tense at first. This is like no other pain they will ever feel. But once they learn to accept its coming they adjust. It is still painful, but they relax between the pains. Minnelsa is as bad between the pains as she is during them. It’s been hours. Nothing has changed.”

“
Nothing?” the Blacksmith said and looked worriedly at the Piano Man. “It’s been hours, like you said. Isn’t the baby coming soon?”

Bira stared at the Piano Man. “That’s just it. It could come soon but she won’t let it. I’m afraid, Peter, that if she doesn’t relax soon, it could be bad for her and the baby.”

She stared at him harder, looking for what he couldn’t imagine. The Indian in her was seeing something in his spirit, perhaps. Something wrong? (He made whores of us all) But he said nothing.

“
She’s your wife, Peter. This is your child. She needs you. Come talk to her for just a minute. It might help.”

He waited for the Blacksmith to interject his objections, but the giant remained silent next to his wife.

And they both waited.

They expected him to go in there. They expected him to lay his long fingered hands on her and make her lovingly listen to reason about their child.

“
She’s. . .” He swallowed. How to get out of this? “She’s already mad at me. Did you hear what she said?”

“
I told you that is the pain talking,” the Blacksmith reminded him. “Maybe Bira is right. Go see if you can help her.”

It was another order-go help her. Live where I tell you, do what I tell you, have children when I tell you. Orders, always orders from the Blacksmith.

If he stayed they wouldn’t understand. If he went he was sure that worse would happen.

Or maybe not. Minnelsa might want to spare her parents the embarrassment of what happened until she knew all the facts.

He swallowed the last of his port and rose slowly. Bira smiled, as did the Blacksmith. He walked to the room where all the moaning and screaming had emanated from before. He could hear her heavy breathing as he stood in the hallway.

Perhaps she would just scream “Go away” and that would be that.

Perhaps (He has made all of us whores).

Minnelsa did not see him when he first entered the room. Her eyes were closed and she was pulling against the restraints. Her arms were tied to the bedpost, feet and ankles pulled apart and tied similarly as she twisted and squirmed.

The sisters saw him and smiled. “Soon you’ll be a father,” Fawn said and slowly exited the room. The midwife put a cool compress on Minnelsa’s head.

“
Of woman man is born,” she said to him and moved aside to steal out of the room.

He walked towards the bed and she felt his presence. He felt the air in the room change.

“
How dare you. . .” she gritted her teeth.

“
You must be calm.”

“
I want you out of here and out of my body,” her voice rose.

Softly he spoke as he got closer. “They say you’ll hurt the baby and yourself if you keep this up.”

“
Damn the baby and damn you,” she shouted then let out a cry of pain that broke the hearts of all who heard. “You made a whore of her and then me.”

He too was dissolved into shame by her weeping and tried to touch her. Her beautiful soft skin was clammy and wet.

“
NO!” she screamed. “No! Don’t you ever touch me again! Go touch your whore, go touch my sister since you were so fond of her that you made both a whore of her and of me.”

“
Please, Minnelsa,” he begged but he knew they had all heard her. He knew the nosey midwife’s ears had peaked and the Blacksmith had risen to his full height. He knew the sisters were standing there with their mouths open. Bira was seeing the evil in him that she had not seen before.

Tied there, stretched out on the crucifixion of birth, she swore at him: “Get him out of here. Get him away from me.”

“
Minnelsa, the baby!” He thought of the innocent child. His other child.

Hatred filled her tired eyes. “I will not give birth to your child if it is within my power.”

He turned and saw Bira standing in the doorway.

“
Minnelsa,” he begged again.

She looked at him and shouted: “I will try to kill this baby with every bit of life I have even if it kills me.”

“
Mama,” she called in a childlike voice. “Tell him Ophelia is the only child he will ever have by any woman in this family. June gave him a baby when he made her a whore. But I will not. I will die first. I won’t have this baby. I won’t!”

It was the look in Bira’s eyes that cursed him, the words she would not let slip from her lips. The pain came and again Minnelsa screamed and called on God to kill her.

And kill the Piano Man’s baby.

The Piano Man watched her fight the forces of nature as he backed out of the room. He watched Bira’s face turn to cold, hard stone as he walked by her. He saw the recognition in the midwife’s eyes, and the anger in the doctor’s face.

When the doctor went to her and Bira tried to comfort her, she ranted, she shouted, she blasphemed.

In the back of the house June had heard the angry decree and had closed herself off from the family even more by getting up and closing her door.

But that didn’t keep Fawn out. Just as June shut the door Fawn put her body in the way.

“
Is it true?’ her sister said standing there, sweat on her face and her body saturated from the heat.

June didn’t look at her. She went to her bed to pull from under her blanket her bottle of comfort. After a few frantic moments of searching, she remembered it was hidden in the tree.

Fawn came into the small room and grabbed her baby sister by her uncombed hair, dirt and leaves weaved into it. “Is what Minnelsa says true? Is Ophelia Peter’s child?”

June looked up at her, her head pulled back by the strength of her angry sister’s hands. Did it matter if she answered? They would all believe what they wanted. Did it matter if she said these were the ranting of a woman in labor, for they would believe what they wanted? They always wanted to believe the worst about her. It was time to let them have the truth.

“
Look, I met him first. I loved him first. I wanted him first.” She watched her sister with tear stained eyes.

Fawn was a strong woman, an angry woman. “Oh, my God.” She raised her hand and slapped June so hard that she fell back into the wall, cowering and expecting another blow. “You tramp!” Fawn raised her hand again as June said softly, blood slipping from her lips:

“
Our father made us all whores, or weren’t you paying attention to everything Minnelsa said. They made us all whores? Didn’t your husband leave you? Didn’t they all get what they came for, ruin you and leave?

“
The Piano Man was mine first. He just never married me. He was greedy. He married my sister. Married her for money.”

Fawn released a scream as intense as Minnelsa’s. She began to beat June with her fists until the younger woman decided not to take it anymore and began to fight back.

She pushed Fawn across the room in her anger. “You think you’re better than me because you walked down the aisle and have a ring on that finger? You’re just as big a whore as I am. You didn’t marry for love. You were sold like a slave to the highest bidder.’

“
No!” Fawn screamed as she came at her. “I’m not like you! None of us were ever like you.”

June moved before her sister could hit her, sending Fawn crashing onto the single bed.

Tiny June straddled her crying sister. “You’re a Blacksmith’s daughter,” she whispered into her Fawn’s ear. “You are property bought and sold. What have you got to show for it now, Miss Married? Are you so perfect, so much better than the darkies with no training and no perfect homes? Nothing. You sleep in a single bed like me. You’re a bitch in heat like me. Only unlike me you never tried to go out and get a man that you wanted. I did and I will again.

“
But you won’t. You’ll sit in this house day after day and let that old man run your life until you don’t have life anymore. Tell me how does that make you better than me?”

Fawn lay beneath her sister and cried.

Outside the small room Jewel heard it all and, leaning against the doorframe, wept bitterly.

In the labor room Minnelsa cried curses and gave up trying to scream, her voice gone, her throat weak and dry, her body tired, she did as her mother ordered. “I will not lose you because you are too proud. I will not lose you because your sister and your husband made a mistake. Do as I say, Minnelsa. Give in to having this baby. Have it now, or I will go back to the old ways.” Bira looked at the doctor as she said: “I will cut it out of you myself.”

Bira’s stern face turned back to her daughter. And Minnelsa, understanding her mother’s strength, understanding that there was nothing else she could do, allowed herself to ease into the birth.

She was oblivious of the pain for it was small compared to what the years ahead of her had in store. She thought about the yellow curtains of her kitchen. Curtains she had made herself. She thought about summer days before the heat and before the dog days and the curtains flapping in as she had played with a baby named Ophelia sitting in her lap.

“
Wind, Mommy, wind,” the baby had chanted as the curtains moved in and out.

“
Yes, wind, sweetheart,” she had answered and kissed the sweet cheeks of her sister’s child that was her child. How they had watched the wind each day until there was no more wind and the curtains stopped and were still and it rained all the time.

“
Push, Minnelsa,” the doctor ordered.

She allowed her body to follow the command, but she wasn’t there. She was somewhere watching the yellow curtains between the wind and the rain. Somewhere before there was a Piano Man, somewhere before she had refused to run away with the man she loved because she didn’t want to disobey her father.

“
What about me?” John Wood had asked. She had been too confused by duty to understand.