Yellow Crocus (30 page)

“The pains only come about ten times in an hour. Mrs. Williams says they will be more than double that when it is time.”

“Shall I fetch her?”

“She asked me to wait until I have twenty pains in an hour.”

“You trust her?”

“After eight children, she knows about birth. And she assures me that the negro midwife is better than a doctor if there are any problems.” Lisbeth challenged him, “You agreed when we spoke of this before.”

Matthew sighed. “Yes, you are right. My mother believes midwives are best for childbirth as well.”

“I will be fine, Matthew. I am excited to meet our child. Please do not worry about me.”

“I am excited as well,” Matthew replied, “but I cannot help my concern.”

Lisbeth paced around the house throughout the afternoon, stopping to lean on a wall whenever a labor pain came. By late afternoon the contractions came every three minutes so Matthew asked the cook to fetch Mrs. Williams. The bag of waters broke soon after she arrived.

“Looks like your baby will be here any minute,” Mrs. Williams said. “Soon the urge to bear down comes.”

But the urge to bear down did not come. Instead Lisbeth threw up until nothing was left in her stomach. Thoroughly spent, she lay down in bed and rested between contractions. Matthew and Mrs. Williams wiped her forehead with a cool cloth and offered her small sips of water. Hours passed as the day turned into night.

“Is this normal?” Matthew whispered to Mrs. Williams while Lisbeth dozed.

“Nothing to be concerned about,” she replied. “First babies take a long time. We just need to keep her comfortable and let her body keep at it.”

Which her body did until well past midnight. But after three in the morning, the contractions started to spread out. By the time they were eight minutes apart Mrs. Williams was concerned.

“Mr. Johnson,” Mrs. Williams said, “I am sorry, but this is not normal. That baby should have been out by now. We need to fetch the midwife right away. I pray that she can get labor going again.”

Mattie, who was known by Georgia in Ohio, awoke at once. After so many years as a midwife, she responded immediately to a knock on the door.

She left the warm bed she shared with her husband Emmanuel, the man she now called Thomas, to make her way to the door. Grabbing a robe from a peg by the door, she was only just presentable when she opened it. A slight, white lady shivered in the night before her.

“We got a difficult birth over at the Acres. They sent me to fetch you.”

“Let me change and get my things. I gonna be ready in a moment. Want to wait inside?”

“I’ll wait in the wagon.”

In less than ten minutes, Mattie was ready to head out the door. She roused Emmanuel half awake to let him know she was going. He wished her an easy birth before he returned to his dreams. Moving to Jordan’s bed, she kissed her sleeping daughter on the forehead. She did not kiss Samuel because he was not in their home. The previous night he had gone out with his friends and had yet to return. Pushing aside her worry for her son, she headed out the door to the waiting wagon.

Mattie had to trust that she would be returned when the birthing was over. On more than one occasion, she had been left to walk home from a birth. The Acres, on the other side of town, would mean a long trek after a hard labor.

Nearly ten years had passed since Mattie and Jordan joined Emmanuel and Samuel on the outskirts of Oberlin. All vestiges of their former selves were erased, except their memories. Colored folk in the area knew better than to ask too much about the past. White folks too. It was a welcome relief that the whites in this part showed very little interest in the negroes, though they were willing to purchase and sell goods and services across color lines. Mattie was known to be the best midwife in the area. Even white folks used her services if it meant the difference between life and death.

Mattie and Emmanuel were proud of their house, their work, and their children. Their home was comfortable and large now, with two bedrooms added onto the main room. Emmanuel’s reputation as a master furniture builder was well deserved. His ladder-back chairs were the finest in the county. After three years of saving, he had purchased a lathe to craft round-spindled as well as square-spindled chairs. Between growing corn, furniture making, and midwifing, Mattie and Emmanuel made a good life.

Their children attended the colored school when they were not needed to work. Jordan was as good a student as Samuel. He knew how to read so well that he was top of his class and tutored the younger children for part of the day. His teacher, a Quaker woman, was encouraging him to apply to Oberlin College when he finished high school, but he was reluctant to take that path. He preferred helping his father in woodworking. Emmanuel was glad to have Samuel follow in his path, but Mattie hoped he would try for Oberlin College. She could hardly believe that, thanks to those lessons under the willow, her son was free and had the opportunity to become a teacher or even a lawyer.

Though Samuel was a constant worry to Mattie, Emmanuel assured her their son would be fine, and going out for all hours of the night came naturally to a young man.

Less than an hour later, time enough for night to have turned to morning, Mattie entered the birthing room. Before asking any questions, she went straight to the bed to study the birthing mother. A shiny layer of sweat glistened on the pale woman’s swollen cheeks; her sunken eyes were closed. The movement of her eyeballs showed through her thin eyelids and her shallow breathing hardly filled her lungs.

Mattie studied this face. A chill crept up her back. Though the young woman’s face was barely recognizable after ten years and many hours of hard labor, somehow Mattie knew: this woman was Lisbeth. “Dear Lord,” she whispered to herself. It seemed impossible. But Mattie knew she was right. The shell around the young woman’s throat erased any doubt in Mattie’s mind. Reaching her hand out to brush damp hair away from Lisbeth’s face, Mattie steadied herself by taking deep breaths in and out. She was acutely aware that the other eyes in the room were on her. Reeling with this turn of events, she worked to hide the onslaught of feelings from the others in the room.

In contrast, Lisbeth was entirely unaware of the people around her. She was so far gone into this birth she no longer existed entirely in this world.

Mattie knelt by the bed and quietly whispered into Lisbeth’s ear, “I here now. Mattie here with you now, strong woman. You gonna be all right.” Before rising she touched the shell at the base of Lisbeth’s neck and felt its companions under her own dress. Then she said the prayer that started all her midwifing, “Dear Lord, please guide me in gettin’ this baby born and savin’ this precious woman’s life.” Then she added something extra for Lisbeth, “Please, God, allow me to take care of her one more time. Amen.”

She turned to introduce herself as Georgia Freedman and asked for details of the labor. Once they filled her in she took charge of the situation.

“She needs to get somethin’ in her. Mr. Johnson, I want you to get some sugar water with salt brought up. Mrs. Williams, will you help me with examinin’ her?”

Mattie’s experienced fingers felt around the perimeter of Lisbeth’s swollen belly, muttering the names of body parts to herself as she went. Deftly she reached into Lisbeth to gather more information.

Upon Matthew’s return with the prescriptive brew, the midwife informed him, “Mr. Johnson, this here baby ain’t turned proper to come out.”

“Please, you must do something,” Matthew pleaded. “Just take the baby out. Anything to save her.”

“Can’t just take a baby out. I gonna have to reach in and turn it right, then see if she can get this baby out herself. You and Mrs. Williams have got to help me with the turning. If you too scared, go get someone else, but I need two folks to hold her up.”

“No. No need to get someone else. I can help you.” Seeking Mattie’s assurance, Matthew asked, “She is not going to die, is she?”

“Not if I can help it, God willin’. No promises; I ain’t gonna make you a promise that I don’ get to keep, but I done this a few times,” Mattie said, concealing the urgency of the situation from the panicked father-to-be. “We gonna move her so she lyin’ with her legs down over the side of the bed. You two stand by while I reach in. When I say, you pull her standin’ up.”

The midwife crossed to the head of the bed. Leaning in close to Lisbeth’s unconscious form, Mattie whispered, “I gonna have to reach in you to turn this baby. It gonna hurt, a lot. But it gonna save you both.”

They each got into position. Lisbeth was lying down on the bed with her legs dangling over the side. Matthew and Mrs. Williams each held one of her arms while Mattie knelt between her legs. Mattie reached deep inside Lisbeth’s body, stretching open her cervix, to find the baby’s shoulder. Lisbeth screamed, her face contorting in pain. Pushing on the baby’s shoulder, Mattie turned the child, rotating her hand to bring the infant’s head above Lisbeth’s pelvis. When Mattie yelled “now,” her assistants pulled Lisbeth into a standing position, getting gravity’s aid in engaging the infant’s head in the proper spot. Mattie withdrew her hand from the cavity between Lisbeth’s legs.

“We did it,” she declared. “Lay her down gently.”

Matthew breathed a sight of relief and grinned at Mrs. Williams as they lowered Lisbeth to the bed. Mattie reached inside Lisbeth to check the infant’s position again.

“Damn!” Mattie spoke out under her breath. “The baby turned back. We have to do it again. This time we ain’t gonna lay her down when we done. She gonna have to squat. Go get a milkin’ stool, quick,” she commanded Matthew.

On his return, they got into position to do the procedure again. Mattie’s reach into Lisbeth was met with a grunt of pain. The baby was turned into a head down position. Mattie kept her hand in place as Matthew and Mrs. Williams lifted Lisbeth into a standing position. Then they lowered her onto on the milking stool. Surrounded by bedding and pillows, Lisbeth squatted on the stool and rested her back against the bed with her legs bent up.

“That better,” declared Mattie as she examined Lisbeth. “It staying in the right place.”

“Now what happens?” inquired Matthew.

“Mostly we wait and hope she start laborin’ soon. You give her the sugar water in tiny bits. Mrs. Williams, will you brew up some tea with this black cohosh? I expect it gonna get the labor pains comin’ again.”

Matthew looked at Lisbeth’s pale, clammy face. Panic shone in his eyes. He paced around the small room.

“Mr. Johnson, you gonna be feeding that to your wife or do I need to do it? I know you scared. But if you want to help her, you got to make sure her body has what it need to push this baby out once the pains get going again.”

Matthew gave a single nod and sat down next to Lisbeth. Taking the warm liquid in hand, he carefully brought a spoonful of it to her parted lips. He poured it in slowly, but not slowly enough: most of it dribbled right back out.

“Tell her what you doin’. She not so far gone she don’ know you. Talk to her.”

“Lisbeth, it is me, Matthew…your husband. We are trying to help you get this baby out. You have to drink this to make you strong. You need to be strong to get this baby out. Please be strong. I do not want to lose you.” Matthew went on, “I have loved you ever since I first danced with you when you were twelve. You were so amusing and talkative, not like the other girls, and so beautiful too. I wanted that dance to last forever. I never dared hope you would become my wife someday. This year has been so wonderful. I have begun to believe you might be truly happy with me.” Then Matthew begged, “Oh, Lisbeth. Drink this, please.”